


Morning Light

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy AU, Slow Build, gavin the literal ray of sunshine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 154,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: Rule one of bounty hunting: don't fall for the target.Michael and Meg are hired by the most dangerous man in the land to capture Gavin - an acolyte of the sun god, fleeing north after a terrible massacre and carrying something the Warlord will go to any lengths to reclaim.It's meant to be the job that will make their career - but when they find Gavin and his unexpected companion, they find themselves torn between protecting themselves or helping to save their world.





	1. Chapter 1

**** In Michael's defence, when the Warlord's armed guards burst into the pub where he and Meg were drinking away the payment for the eighteen people they had killed just a few hours earlier, naturally his first thought was that they were under arrest. That was the reason he decided to throw down a smoke bomb and jump out of the window.

Look, it was a logical fucking conclusion to jump to.

Maybe they'd accidentally killed someone important among all those bandits. Or maybe the guy they'd done the job for had been an enemy of the Warlord. Either way he stood by his actions, no matter how many furious death glares Meg was shooting him now as the two of them were being marched over the drawbridge and into the castle, surrounded by two dozen armed guards. Anyone else would've done the same. Maybe. Probably. It was pure bad luck that the window had overlooked the field behind the paddock and he'd ended up head-first in a trough of pig slop, floundering helplessly for the guards to drag out.

"If we end up dead this is your fucking fault," she hissed as they passed through the great hall, servants pausing where they’d been packing away the remnants of some sort of feast to stare at them. They were the first words she'd spoken since they'd been taken.

"What?" Michael whispered back. "For trying to get us out of this mess?"

"For fucking attacking the guards!"

"It was a smoke bomb! It's not exactly lethal!"

"Yeah? They didn't seem to see it that way." She rubbed her arm, looking cross, and Michael felt a slight pang of guilt. After his little dive into the pig trough, the guards hadn't exactly been gentle.

Still. He had no idea what was going on here because no one, so far, had actually told them that they were under arrest. It had been all "Lord Taurin requests your presence" and "Please accompany us immediately" and "It would be very unwise to refuse the Warlord" but no actual, like, straight-up threat.

"They let us keep our weapons," he whispered after a moment, and Meg cast him a sidelong glance before giving a small nod and looking away again. Okay, still pissed off, then. But he could tell she was just as confused as he was, especially as they passed right through the castle towards the lord's private chambers.

Michael couldn't help but stare around as they continued through halls lined with plush carpets and fancy gilded candlesticks. He and Meg didn't frequent this southernmost region much, and it was only the bounty they were chasing that had brought them here - but everyone, no matter what land they were in, had heard of Edgar Taurin, more commonly known as the Warlord. One of the most powerful men in the land, and ruler of the largest region, he was known not only for his past as an adventurer and explorer but also for his mighty conquests of the regions surrounding his. He was one of the few rulers who'd successfully expanded his territory by invading the land of the kings and queens that surrounded him.

A powerful man - and a very, very fucking dangerous one. Not the sort of guy anyone wanted to mess with and certainly one Michael had hoped would never take notice of him. And now here they were, right in his fucking house.

They were almost certainly going to die.

Meg's eyes were wide as she stared at the lavish oil paintings that they passed, the beautiful sculptures and high vaulted ceilings covered in gorgeous frescos. But Michael hunched his shoulders, turning away, the gaudy wealth leaving a bad taste in his mouth. 

_Seen enough of that to last a lifetime,_ he thought, bitterly.

A moment later the Captain of the Guard was striding ahead and pushing open two enormous, ornately carved oak doors ahead of them. He entered the room and bent in a sweeping bow.

"My lord," he said, "The bounty hunters, as you requested."

Strong hands gripped Michael's arms. He gritted his teeth, struggling for a moment out of sheer instinct, but couldn't stop the guards from throwing him forward onto the ground. He landed on his hands and knees with a grunt. A second later Meg was hurled down next to him; she caught herself with a yelp and Michael's heart clenched for a moment, an angry, protective flare shooting through him.

A pair of steel-capped boots strode into view as he pushed himself up onto his knees. He looked up, squinting for a moment in the bright lamplight.

The Warlord looked just as he did in all the enormous bronze statues of himself that he'd erected around the city; an imposing man with broad shoulders and a thick neck. His beady, piggish eyes were deep set in his surly face, and he had a warrior's build and an explorer's skin, leathery and tanned from years spent out under the sun. He must've stood well over six feet tall, and in his immense fur coat and with a horned golden circlet resting atop his head, he really did look like the fierce minotaur of his famous insignia.

"Leave us," he ordered, his voice nearly a growl. The guards backed up and Michael pushed himself up further, though he didn't quite dare stand, not yet. He could see the giant broadsword on the desk behind the Warlord and the three knives and revolver at his belt, and given the stories he'd heard about the man, he wasn't about to take his chances.

He cast a glance at Meg next to him, but her face was cold and unreadable, her chin lifted defiantly as she stared up at the Warlord. Whatever happened here, Michael knew she wouldn't go down without a fight.

As it was, Taurin just stared at the two of them for a moment before motioning for them to stand up. Confused, Michael scrambled to his feet, offering a hand to Meg to pull her up. Taurin was already turning and walking back to his desk to pour himself another goblet of wine.

"So," he said, as the door shut behind the guards. "Michael Jones and Meg Turney. The Bear and the Bird. Word travels fast around here - you took out eighteen of the most notorious bandits in the land with what I'm hearing is very little effort."

Michael bit his lip, unsure what to say. Silence seemed like the best option, and Meg seemed to agree. After a moment Taurin lowered his cup and turned to face them.

"Well?" he sneered. "Most warriors would jump at the chance to brag about their exploits."

"A job's a job," Meg replied, cautiously. "People who are genuinely good at what they do usually don't feel the need to go around telling everyone."

To Michael's surprise, Taurin broke into a fit of hearty laughter.

"Humble," he said. "I like that. I can appreciate it. I started from nothing, you know, until I made a name for myself with my adventures. I did it for the love of it. When you find your passion, you need to stick with it." He stepped closer to Meg, his eyes trained on her, and Michael couldn't help the way his shoulders stiffened. "I hear you're a sorceress."

"I'm trained in the magical arts, yes," Meg replied.

"Good. That's very good. And you - Jones." Taurin whirled towards him and Michael's head snapped up. "That's an impressive sword. Diamond, if I'm not mistaken. Who forged it?"

"It's a family heirloom," Michael growled, growing more confused and impatient by the second. "With all due respect, my lord," the title tasted rank to him, but he wasn't stupid enough to not play it safe, "Why are we here?"

"Straight to the point. Good. Do the two of you work for a guild?" 

"No," Michael replied, "Just the two of us."

"Even better." He clapped his hands together and grinned, baring sharp teeth yellowed from years of tea and pipe-weed. "Your actions today impressed me and I had my servants look into your previous jobs. You've done some fine work. You're efficient, powerful, the fact that there's only two of you makes you discreet, and you have no existing loyalty to a guild. You seem like the perfect people to do a job for me. A very sensitive, very important job." 

_What the fuck?_

Michael looked over at Meg to find her staring at him with an identical, incredulous look. A job? From one of the most powerful men in all the kingdoms? This was not the direction he'd expected this to take. He was relieved, of course, that they weren't about to get their heads chopped off (or be flayed or boiled alive or drawn and quartered or any of the other horrendous tales that surrounded this guy) but, naturally, a little suspicious.

"A job," he repeated.

"A job," Taurin said, and beckoned them towards his desk. They approached with faltering, small steps. Up close, Taurin was older than Michael had expected; he supposed the man had years and years of fantastic tales and legends surrounding him, and his rough skin made it hard to guess at his age. 

Taurin waved a hand above the surface of his desk and a shimmering sphere of light appeared. Slowly, on the surface of the glowing orb, a face appeared. A young man, perhaps a little younger than Michael and Meg themselves, with an elfish face, tanned skin and sandy gold hair. Vibrant green eyes that reminded Michael of the illustrations of the Fey in the fairytales he used to read as a boy.

Meg's eyes beside him were wide. He knew why she was shocked - he was too. He hadn't realised the Warlord had unlocked his magic, let alone that he was a practicing spellcaster. He'd never used it in battle and it definitely wasn't public knowledge.

"You need us to kill him?" he asked, nodding at the man.

"No," Taurin replied, "Absolutely not. I need you to bring him to me, alive and unharmed. And I do mean _unharmed,"_ he stressed, "Any injury that comes close to threatening his life will render him useless to me. If you kill this man, believe me, you will severely regret it. But track him down and retrieve him and you will be handsomely rewarded."

"Who is he?" Meg asked curiously.

_Oh no,_ thought Michael. She never could resist a mystery or an interesting sort of job. He, on the other hand, was getting a fucking terrible feeling about all this. Something about the way Taurin's eyes were fixed on the image of the man, an almost hungry look on his face. He was too invested - he wanted this _too much._ There was something going on here that Michael didn't like the smell of.

"All you need to know," Taurin said, "Is that he's in possession of something very, very important to me, and I need him alive to hand it over. I don't know his name, but he was last seen at the border of my kingdom, travelling north. He knows that I'm after him, and he'll be on the lookout."

"What should we expect from him?" Meg asked then. Michael nudged her, trying to get her attention, but she shook him off. "What weapons does he use? Is he dangerous?"

"No," Taurin said. "No weapons. No magic. He's a small man, weak. Not a fighter or a mage; he won't be a threat to you. He's travelling alone. It should be quite simple - if you can track him down."

"Sounds like an easy job then," Meg said confidently, and turned to Michael with raised eyebrows. He could already see in her eyes that she'd made up her mind, and even when he discreetly shook his head, she turned back to the Warlord. "What's your offer?"

"Fifty thousand gold crowns," Taurin announced, and both of them stiffened so suddenly that it was almost comical.

"Fifty fucking thousand?" Michael repeated, and Taurin smiled.

"Of course. It's important work for an important man, and you two seem experienced enough to warrant the expense. Is that satisfactory?"

"More than satisfactory," Meg breathed.

Michael shook himself. It was a lot of money - a hell of a lot of money - but his bad feeling lingered. He reached out and pressed Meg's wrist.

"Meg," he whispered, but she turned to him. This time she was the one who shook her head, and he bit his lip as he realised what she was getting at. It would be unwise to refuse. Especially since he didn't exactly have a good fucking reason.

"Do we have a deal then?" Taurin asked.

"We do," Meg said.

"Excellent." He held out one immense hand and Meg took it and shook it. She looked tiny next to him, her fingers dwarfed by his enormous hand, covered in a swordsman's callouses.

"You'll be paid ten thousand upfront and the rest on completion of the mission. I trust you know my reputation well enough not to take the money and run," Taurin said drily. "I expect you to set out at dawn, of course. If you like I can put you up in lodgings here."

"We'd be more comfortable at an inn, thanks," Michael said firmly - and perhaps a little too quickly. One bushy eyebrow rose up Taurin's leathery brow.

"You refuse the Warlord's hospitality?" he growled - for a moment Michael's stomach sank, nervous, but then Taurin laughed. "It matters little to me. My manservant will see you out and transfer the money. I hope to see you successful soon. This is," he repeated, and there was a hint of a threat in it, "An incredibly important operation. I trust you won't fail me."

"We won't," Meg said, and he nodded and turned back to his desk, a clear dismissal. Meg headed for the door and Michael trailed after her, unable to spare a final glance back at the Warlord - his broad, hunched shoulders covered in dark fur, the glint of gold on the end of his horns. A larger than life figure, someone who wouldn't be out of place in one of his childhood books - hell, he was pretty sure he had owned a volume at some point about Taurin the Great Adventurer.

But nowadays - Taurin was certainly no hero, no. He was the dark lord of the South, the Conqueror, the one that men told horrifying stories about around the fire at the tavern and whose name was used to threaten children into eating their vegetables.

And here they stood in his castle, taking his money to do some job for him. Who was the green eyed man? What did Taurin want with him?

"Meg," he whispered again, and this time she reached out and squeezed his hand.

"We'll talk later," she muttered, low and urgent, and Michael nodded. It wasn't the time, not with Taurin right there, and he swallowed his protests and followed her from the room.

 

* * *

 

Michael groaned happily as he walked back into the room they were sharing at the inn. With the Warlord's ten thousand crowns in their pocket they'd managed to afford a fancy one, with a washroom that had hot water and rose scented soap, and a luxurious towel that he had slung around his shoulders now and was absolutely going to take with him when they left. It had been good to finally wash away not only the blood and sweat of the fight they'd been in earlier, but also the lingering effects of falling into that pig trough.

"That was fucking fantastic," he announced.

Meg turned from where she'd been standing by her own bed, brushing her hair. Michael faltered to a stop, biting his lip. She'd changed from her leather armour into a black dress. With its wide sleeves and feathered hem, it made her look even more like a raven. Meg rarely looked soft - there was always something a bit dangerous glittering in her eyes, something coiled and ready to fight at a moment's notice - but with her feet bare and her dark hair tumbling in loose waves down her back, for a minute she looked startling more human.

And beautiful, as always - beautiful in a way that made something stir in his chest and his cheeks heat. But he pushed it away, the same way he always did. They'd been working together for five years now. She was like his sister, he told himself firmly - his comrade in arms. No one could deny that she was an attractive woman, but he couldn't get all silly about it, couldn't ruin the careful balance they'd built together.

"You smell better now," she commented, wrinkling her nose, and Michael rolled his eyes and threw himself down on the bed on his side of the room. The mattress was so springy that he nearly bounced right back off.

"So," he said, and she lowered her hair brush and turned to sit facing him.

"So," she replied, and raised an eyebrow. "There a reason you were trying to turn down the biggest fucking job we've ever been offered?"

Michael sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment. God, it felt like forever ago that they'd been standing in that bar drinking to celebrate closing what had _previously_ been their biggest fucking job. Hard to believe it was only a few hours ago.

"Because," he said, picking his words carefully, "It's the Warlord."

"And?"

"And he's not a good guy, Meg. You know how he treats his people. You've heard the stories, there isn't a person in all the damn kingdoms who hasn't."

"No one we work for is a good guy," Meg replied. "Good guys generally don't hire assassins or put bounties on people's heads."

"It's different," Michael argued. "He's... he's worse. He's powerful."

"Since when do you care about that? Not like any of us are particularly loyal to one kingdom. We like it that way, remember?" She rose and moved to sit on the edge of his bed instead. "What's really got you edgy?"

He looked up at her, staring steadily down at him - so calm and certain. Meg was much more ambitious than him, he knew - she was the one who pushed them to take bigger jobs, who built up their reputation and sought out more high ranking clients, while Michael was generally content just to take small hits and bounties. Enough to get by.

"What he said about finding something you're passionate about," he said, slowly. "That's not true. Not for us, anyway."

She rolled her eyes.

"That's what's bothering you? That he thinks your one true calling in life is killing people?"

"It isn't," Michael grunted, and Meg sighed.

"So what's your passion then? Poetry? Swordplay?" She poked him in the stomach. "Oh wait, I know. Pissing off your father."

"Shut up," he snapped, swatting her hand away. He felt his face heat with embarrassment. "It's a lot of fucking money, is all."

"So that's what it's about." She stretched back on the bed, her head bumping against his thigh. "The money. Should've guessed. It always is with you."

"Meg..."

"What is it, some sort of penance? You refuse to ever be rich again? Because if that's all it is, I'm happy to take your share of it."

"It's not that." He sat up, brushing his hair out of his eyes so that he could most effectively glare at her. "I just have a bad feeling about it, is all. We don't even know who this man we’re chasing is or why the Warlord wants him. The jobs we take, we usually know _why_. We're tracking down bandits or criminals or scammers. I don't like going into this blind."

She was silent for a moment, thinking it over.

"Well," she said finally, "One thing's for sure, I wasn't about to say no to his face. And we've already taken his money, so we can't exactly back out now. Just try not to worry about it, Michael," she added, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. "It's just one job. Just one guy. Hell, we're not even killing him. Let's get it over and done with and then we'll be living so comfortably we can take any little jobs you want. I promise."

Michael bit his lip, but she was right - they didn't have much of a choice. He sighed, and nodded, and Meg smiled, reaching to chuck him under the chin.

"Come on, smile. I don't want to be fighting with you or this job will be miserable."

"We're not fighting," Michael assured her, but couldn't help his snort when she tried to tickle him. He rolled backwards, off the bed, and managed to land on his feet. Meg laughed and he couldn't help smiling, too. "Come on, I'm fucking starving. Bet this place has amazing food. Let's go get something to eat. Could do with a drink as well."

"You're telling me," she agreed, and rose in one fluid, graceful movement that made Michael swallow and quickly look away. He reached for his bearskin cloak, slung over the back of a nearby chair, but she grabbed his arm.

"Come on, you don't need that. It's so warm here."

"It's the middle of fucking winter!"

"We're not going outdoors." She laughed again and tugged at his arm until he sighed and followed her out.

 

* * *

 

Down in the lively pub, with the fire roaring and the band playing a jaunty tune, Michael felt a bit better - even if he was surrounded by far richer company than he usually preferred. A party of courtiers, a group of celebrated poets, some noblemen on holiday - those were the sort who’d stay in an inn this expensive, and all around Michael were fine silk robes and jewel encrusted rings and rather extravagant hats. He was getting a few odd looks here and there, but for the most part people were too engrossed in their flagons of drink and the plates piled high with sweetmeats and freshly baked rolls.

Surrounded by laughter and lively conversation, it was hard for him not to relax as well. He sat at their table digging in and watching Meg, at the other end of the room. She’d gone to get them drinks but as she waited he could see her talking with a pretty blond woman in an elegant navy gown. Her hair was piled up in a fancy braided style, sparkling here and there with jewelled pins. Even from here Michael could see that she was striking.

Meg was smiling - laughing, too - for once not as on guard as she usually was. Something squirmed in Michael’s stomach, and he forced himself to look away.

_Don’t be an idiot. Not like she’d care if you wandered off to chat with someone else._

Still. He felt like the odd one out, despite the fact that of the two of them _he_ was the one who should have fit into this scene. 

“Hey.”

His head snapped up and he found Meg returning to their table, setting a foaming mug of ale down in front of him. She was smiling and relaxed now, and it was easy for him to smile back.

“Hey,” he said, and pushed the plate towards her. She reached out to delicately pick out a piece of meat. Closed her eyes and groaned happily as she popped it in her mouth.

“Fuck, that’s good,” she said, licking her fingers. Michael realised he was staring too hard and wrenched his gaze away.

“What was that girl talking to you about?” he asked, and Meg’s eyes snapped open.

“Oh my gods, there’s so much news,” she said, leaning forward eagerly. “The heralds had a pretty hectic day. It’s all over town. King Ramsey in the North is sending ships around the edge of the continent and a lot of people think it’s a sign that he’s gonna start declaring war on the states around him and building up his territory like the Warlord has.”  
  
Michael snorted, reaching to take another piece of bread.

“Ramsey would never declare war on anyone,” he grunted. “He’s too much of a pussy. I don’t understand that guy.”  
  
“Thought he’d be just your sort,” she said, grinning and nudging at him. “Like something from a fairytale. All noble and shit.”

“His territory’s big enough. He has no reason to declare war. He’s probably more worried someone’s gonna come and attack _him_. What else happened?”  
  
“The Sex von Shaukel Bards got their tour banned from Solaire because they were deemed too offensive.”

“Not surprising, it’s the most fucking religious city in the land.” 

“And the Isle of Sol got attacked. Their supply runners went down there today and the whole place had been massacred,” Meg said.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Michael sat up straighter. “Massacred?”

“Yeah, the temple was burned down and nearly all the priests had been killed. No one knows who did it. I assume they’re investigating.”  
  
“Who would want to kill a bunch of priests? They don’t do shit down there except sit around worshipping that stupid candle. The Isle’s pretty out of the way. You’d have to go down there deliberately.”  
  
Meg shrugged, not seeming particularly bothered as she reached for her drink again.

“I have no clue, but it’s huge news. People worship Anarchy here so they don’t care as much but there’s massive uproar everywhere that Sol’s popular.”

“I can imagine,” Michael said, and sat back in his chair. He hadn’t been religious in years, but he could still remember their weekly visits to the temple as a child, and how they’d burned offerings of paper money and dried flowers to the god of light in exchange for promises of prosperity and good weather. His family had owned huge swaths of land, and like all people involved in agriculture they’d held a special devotion to Sol.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed, let alone visited a temple. But still - the memory of the priests and priestesses lingered in his mind; quiet, gentle individuals who never seemed to raise their voices above a murmur, looking like flitting rays of sunlight in their bright yellow robes. The thought of them being slaughtered in cold blood made something uneasy run down his spine.

Meg was leaning back in her chair now, picking apart a piece of bread and popping it in her mouth as she stared around at everyone in the dining hall.

“We’re gonna have more money than we know what to do with, soon,” she murmured. “Gonna eat like this every night.”  
  
“You’re gonna get some king-sized shits if you eat rich food like this every day,” Michael said, and she laughed and turned back to him.

“I take it you speak from experience,” she teased, and he pulled a stupid face, trying to drown out the uneasiness that even her simple joke brought back. Desperate to change the subject even further, he pulled out his map and spread it out on the table between them.

“So where should we go first?” he asked.

Meg snapped back to attention, her gaze become intense and focused as she turned to the map.

“The Warlord said this guy had last been seen at the northern border of his territory. Probably this town here,” she said, pointing. “If he’s as weak as Taurin said, he won’t want to travel for too long in the Forests of Gramarye - they’re notoriously dangerous. That means he’ll be going from town to town, and there are few enough that we can pretty easily see what route he’s taking. If we catch him before he reaches the Lowlands then we’ll be gold. If he gets past there we’re gonna have a bit more trouble tracking him down.”

“We cut through Gramarye,” Michael said, tracing a line with his fingers, “That trail we took when hunting those bandits down today. It’ll reduce our travel time significantly. Then we can intercept him at this town here. Luminar.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Meg said. She drummed her fingers against the table. “It almost seems too easy.”  
  
“Probably is easy,” Michael grunted. “Probably the reason Taurin hired two totally unknown bounty hunters instead of any one of the big name assassins in this kingdom. Hell, doesn’t he have his own personal killing squad to track this guy down?”  
  
Meg hummed, but Michael’s frown was genuine. He still had more questions than answers when it came to this job.

“Anyway,” Meg said, “It really shouldn’t be too hard. Especially since Taurin said he was alone, right? So we outnumber him anyway.”  
  
“Right,” Michael said, and when she smiled reassuringly at him he couldn’t help but smile back, and turned his attention back to the food. The job could wait until tomorrow - tonight he intended to enjoy himself.

 

* * *

 

Lindsay stared out the window of the cheap inn bedroom. She could see the darkness of the forest in the distance, the craggy shapes of trees between which was nothing but ominous pitch blackness. The road wound into the distance, lined with thick piles of snow, and the flickering lights of the torches that framed the doors of the inn cast odd shadows that kept making her flinch and jump.

She couldn't sleep.

She'd tried, on and off for the past few hours. Now it was past the witches' hour and her mind still wouldn't stop racing. Sometimes, for a brief moment, she could forget what had happened - but then it would slam back into her and leave her with a constant, lurking feeling of dread, the knowledge that everything had changed.

_Come on._ Her fists clenched and she took a deep breath. Watched it fog against the cold glass. _This is what you've prepared for. You need to be brave now, be strong. Be brave. Be_ brave _. You can do anything, as long as you're brave._

A murmur behind her made her spin around. In the small bed in the corner of the room, Gavin thrashed restlessly. As she watched, he sat bolt upright with a gasp loud enough to wake the dead. He turned towards her, but she knew he couldn't see her; for a moment his eyes stared vacantly, wide and horrified, certainly seeing something else. Then he shook himself, and hunched over, knees coming up to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them, shaking visibly.

"Gavin?" Lindsay asked tentatively. She reached to light the second lantern on the bedside table. "You okay?"

He buried his head in his knees for a moment. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but before she could, he looked up and shook his head.

"I can't stop thinking about it," he whispered.

"I can't sleep either." She leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh. "And I wasn't even there. It doesn't feel real."

"It doesn't." He squeezed his eyes shut. Sitting there he looked too small, too vulnerable. For a moment Lindsay couldn't help but think of a young boy sitting on a beach, crumpled in the sand with the weight of the world on his shoulders, staring out into the ocean while she tugged at his hand. _Come on. Come on. It's our only chance._

They hadn't run away then. They couldn't run from this now.

"Be brave," she mumbled, and Gavin looked up. His eyes met hers and he gave a small smile, clambering from the bed and walking to stand next to her. He was wearing his loose undershirt - had nothing else except the clothes he was travelling in - and the laces at the front were untied. She caught a glimpse of the angry scar that covered most of his chest and looked away quickly, feeling sick.

"How long until dawn?" he asked, reaching her side and moving to peer out the window.

"Still some hours."

"Damn it. I just want to get on the move. Every bloody second we wait I get scared that he's coming after us. They won't stop even at night."

"Well, we have to," she pointed out a bit awkwardly, "Unless you want to get lost in the woods within five seconds."

"True," he murmured, and rested his forehead against the glass of the window. She stared at him for a second, the darkness of his eyelashes against his cheek, the familiar sharp line of his jaw. What wasn't familiar was the stubbly beard - it made him look older somehow. Hell, these last few years every time she saw him she got a bit of a shock - how much time had passed. How strange it was to go from seeing someone every single day to going months on end without a glimpse of them.

But they were here together now, and when she reached out and squeezed his shoulder, he leaned into the touch.

"Are you sure I can't call some of my friends?" she asked, and felt him stiffen. "They're close by and I'd feel safer in a group! Plus they're far more familiar with these roads than I am - I've never been further north than Solaire-"

"Lindsay, we can't." There was a pleading note in his voice that made her fall silent immediately. "Believe me, I'd love to have more people on our side. I'd feel a lot safer. But they... but the last thing they told me was to trust nobody. No one at all. Those were literally his exact words. I know they're your friends, but they're strangers to me, and... and this is too important to risk."

"Right," she whispered, and looked away. That dread loomed up, a hopelessness like they were in over their heads.

A raised voice outside made both of them jump and stiffen. In an instant she was pushing Gavin back away from the window, shifting in front of him protectively as she peered out. The voices were coming from the doorway of the inn - loud and rowdy and so muffled by the snow falling outside that she couldn't tell what they were saying.

She reached down and picked up her sword from where it rested against the wall. Glanced back over her shoulder to find Gavin had stepped back and fallen into a crouch, ready to bolt at a second's notice. With an approving nod she turned back to the window and opened it, leaning out slightly, trying to get a better look.

The winter’s night air was like a slap in the face, so cold that her ears and nose were instantly numb and her eyes watered from the freezing air. She peered out of their window on the second storey and looked down just in time to see a final rowdy group of patrons leaving the tavern on the inn's lowest floor. They were laughing and jostling one another, faces red from the cold, and as she watched they headed over to the stable to get their horses. She relaxed and shut the window again, turning around.

"Nothing," she said, and saw Gavin's face fall in relief again. "Gods, we're paranoid, aren't we?"

Gavin huffed out a hysterical sort of laugh.

"Taurin's powerful," he said. "He won't spare any expense trying to find me. Better safe than sorry."

"You don't need to worry," she said. "I'll die before I let anything get to you."

Gavin stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide and too vulnerable. Something flitted across his face, something angry and defensive like he almost wanted to argue with her. But it passed, and a moment later he reached out.

"You're shaking," he said softly, and Lindsay realised she was, indeed, shivering.

"It's cold outside," she replied. Even just leaning out the window had seemed to suck all the heat from her body. She'd taken off her armour when they got in here, was wearing nothing but her long underclothes. "It's going to be a grim winter. Or so everyone's saying."

"Of course it will be," Gavin whispered, "The Flame's not there to welcome Sol each morning. He won't know where to smile."

Lindsay nodded, and he squeezed her shoulder.

"Come to bed," he whispered, "We should try to sleep even if we leave before dawn."

"Someone should keep watch," she argued, but he shook his head.

"The door's locked. We're fine. It's no use us both being exhausted."

She wanted to argue, but despite herself, she was wrung out, and let him pull her back to the bed. They slid under the covers together and Gavin curled up by her side, head resting on her shoulder.

It was cold in the room - the inn was too cheap to have proper heating and opening the window had not been one of her best ideas. But Gavin radiated heat like she was lying next to a fucking fireplace, his body so warm to the touch that it was as though he'd been lying under the sun from hours. She couldn't help but shift closer to it, comforted by the weight of his body against hers. Thought back with a fond nostalgia to night after night spent as children on the island, lying beside one another on palm reed mats, telling stories and giggling quietly to one another until they fell asleep. Gavin had held her hand sometimes, especially those first few nights, when she still had nightmares about wandering unfamiliar streets alone and cold and hungry, when she was frightened by the humid pressure of the island and all the strangers around her. It'd been too hot then, his little hand sticky where it clutched hers, but somehow it'd been the lifeline soothing her to sleep.

Things had seemed untouchable then, like they'd go on forever - the stars above them and the lap of the ocean waves and the salty sea breeze, and the faint glow of the Flame in the temple tower at the top of the hill. The island. 

_The island._ The thought sent a pang through her and she had to swallow her tears. But she closed her eyes and focused instead on the weight of Gavin's head on her shoulder, and the rise and fall of his breath, and the warmth that seemed to emanate from his chest and seep into her skin, too.

_You spent your life training for this_ , she thought, and pushed her grief and fear away. There was no time for it, not now. _Be brave. Be brave, now. Everyone is counting on you._

She reached for Gavin's hand and when she touched it he turned to grip it properly. A fond, fierce protectiveness rose in her chest.

_I swear by Sol, I'm going to get you North. I'm going to get you to Ramsey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to lostgalaxyexplorer and nudnikshpilkes for their help with this fic! <3


	2. Chapter 2

As the world was Lindsay’s fucking oyster and she was quite sure that every corner held a new opportunity, naturally the enormous tree that stood just outside the gates of Luminar was just that. An oyster, ready to be plucked - plucked? - yes, plucked of its fleshy delicious innards.

The thing was, they had never seen a tree this big before. This place was un-fucking-charted territory. The Isle of Sol held merely palm trees which were not, typically, very climbable.

“This is the most immense tree I have ever seen,” Gavin declared next to her, solemnly. “How grand.”

“It is indeed spectacular,” Lindsay replied, staring up at it with awe. Ah, the vastness of the branches, the splendid robust nature of the trunk. The gods were great indeed in their creations.

They stared in appreciation at it for a moment.

“I am going to climb the tree,” Gavin announced.

Lindsay was all for this idea, as she was a firm believer in spontaneous decisions and the possibility for adventure they brought. So naturally instead of doing an immediate risk assessment as probably ought to be her duty as Gavin’s divinely appointed bodyguard, she instead declared, “Yes! What a tremendous idea. I’ll give you a boost up.”

Anyway. That was how Gavin sprained his ankle, and that was why they were now hobbling very slowly through the city looking for a doctor.

This had not downed their spirits in the slightest. Luminar itself was spectacular; it was the middle of the afternoon, and the sun was just in the right position to hit the city. The whitewashed buildings covered in snow and ice seemed to take on a supernatural glow and the spiralling streets built around the many hills in the area formed dizzying patterns.

They'd been walking all morning in the wind and snow. Lindsay's heavy cloak and her armour kept her relatively warm, but what was nicest was how both of them seemed to have come to a silent, mutual decision after last night to put all the darkness behind them. After a week travelling in grim mourning, they'd woken this morning to find the day sunnier than usual. Gavin had taken it as a fantastic omen and since then it was like they'd both finally taken a deep breath. The stakes were high, yes, but she was also going on a fucking adventure with her best friend, and she was determined to let herself enjoy that.

She had to, or she didn't think either of them could go on with this.

"Right," Lindsay said, as they marched along. She kept a tight grip around Gavin’s waist, both to steady him as he limped along and to prevent one or both of them from getting horribly lost. She'd been trying to make a plan for the last half an hour but they kept getting distracted - there was just so much to see! Traders and travellers in colourful robes, incredible frescoes on the walls depicting Sol's courtship of their local deity, the moon goddess Luna, the line of marble warriors facing South to protect the city from the followers of Anarchy, the beautiful architecture of the buildings and shopfronts.

And other things, too.

Like the uncommonly large seagull that'd captured Gavin's attention for a good five minutes, drawing reverent exclamations about how it was "bloody monstrous!" and "a real whopper of a fellow" and, eventually, "borderline abominable."

And then the dogs that were being walked by their owners in the rich district and who were all wearing little woollen jackets against the winter chill - they'd paused to squeal over those for another five minutes.

"Do you think the dogs in clothes think the other dogs are naked?" Gavin kept asking, which sparked another debate.

And then, of course the street cats. Luminar was particularly well known for them and it seemed like everywhere they turned there was another one, lounging in a patch of sunlight or sitting on a doorstep. Of course, they had to stop and watch each one to see what it did. Or try and get it to come to them. You just had to; Lindsay really had no choice in the matter. It was an unspoken rule in life.

So... yes, perhaps it was the animals that were mostly distracting them, but now she was determined that they would move on, and she dragged Gavin away from a pigeon trying to mate with another one and finally got them moving again.

"First order of business, get your ankle seen to!" she declared. "Then we need supplies, and finally we need directions."

"Are we going to stay here for tonight?" Gavin asked.

"That will depend on how the asking for directions part goes. I'm not sure how long it takes to get to the next city. We do need supplies, though," she added, rather painfully aware of the fact that aside from the clothes on their backs and her sword they had... well, fuck all, to be honest.

On the bright side, if Gavin fell out of any other trees it would make it very easy to carry him!

They headed down the main street, elbowing each other and pointing furiously whenever they saw a particularly interesting sight or particularly adorable animal, giggling and whispering like school children. She couldn't help but think back to their trips to the mainland when they were young, clinging to one another tightly to avoid getting lost, nearly giddy with excitement at finally seeing something new, even if it was only the tiny fishing villages that ringed the South coasts.

Gavin pressed closer to her side as they reached a more crowded street, and she felt him grip the back of her cloak.

"Stay close," she said, putting an arm around him and tugging him closer - glancing suspiciously for a moment at the people around them. No one was paying them any attention, but you never knew.

The Warlord was powerful. His agents could be anywhere.

Gavin nodded, and she guided them both deeper into the city, a little more on the alert now. It still felt strange - being the one in charge. Gavin had always been the more confident, the more certain, the one who led the way. She’d never minded. 

But out here, off the Isle… she was the experienced one, the one who knew the cities or at least what to expect from them. But for the most part she still felt like she was just making shit up as she went along. Aside from the knight's academy in Solaire she hadn't travelled that much. So yeah, she had more experience than Gavin, but only one city's worth.

Still. They continued on, both wide eyed. There was almost too much to look at - merchants by the roadside selling bouquets of colourful flowers, reams of glistening silk, all manner of jewellery and statues and trinkets. They passed a man selling hot mulled wine and another roasting chestnuts in a metal tray over a flaming cauldron. They paused to buy some of those, burning their fingers as they ate them by the side of the road.

She couldn't stop looking at Gavin, too.

She'd missed him, the last few months. Now she couldn't really take her eyes off him, something in her chest growing warm at the sight of his wide-eyed excitement, the childlike awe with which he took in everything about his new surroundings. The gentleness that seemed to permeate everything he did, whether it was peeling the shell off a chestnut or fiddling with the gold chain around his throat or, later, binding his ankle with supplies they bought off a roadside stall when they gave up on finding a doctor. Something soft and oddly delicate to every movement.

Gavin not only couldn't, but _wouldn't_ hurt a fly, she knew that much. Hell, he'd probably hesitate to swat a mosquito. It only made her more determined to protect him.

But still - just being around him was giving her an odd, funny sort of longing, something she hadn't noticed before. Nostalgia, she supposed - for simpler times. For the island, and growing up, and their destinies being nothing but a distant dream. Now that everything had burned to the ground and they were forced out into the real world, she wished for that childhood again.

Or at least, that was her explanation for why she couldn't stop smiling at him, and her heart fluttered in her chest when he smiled back, and she kept a tight hand on his shoulder as they continued with phase two of their plan: finding supplies, and directions.

 

* * *

 

So the thing was, out of everyone who could possibly have been tasked with keeping Gavin safe while travelling quite literally from one end of the continent to another, Lindsay would readily admit that she was an… _interesting_ choice. She was self-reflective, y’know, hit her up with that constructive criticism. She would quite genuinely describe herself as a somewhat dodgy option. 

It’s not that she didn’t want to make the best possible decisions to keep Gavin as out of trouble as possible. But the chaos, it just _called_ to her. That insatiable desire to see where the road less travelled would take them.

And _that_ was why they were now standing in probably one of the dodgiest alleys in the city.

Look, there was some solid reasoning behind how they had gotten here. They’d been on one of the main streets looking for an inn and it was starting to get super crowded as lunch time approached, and Gavin was clutching her hand tightly, and she remembered that he hadn’t really been around so many people before. 

“You okay?” she’d asked, squeezing his hand. “There’s a lot of people around.”

“You used to tell me stories about these big cities,” Gavin replied. “It’s odd finally seeing it in person.” He took a shaky breath and smiled. “I’m fine.”  
  
But still - the more people were around, the more there was a chance that one of them might be one of the Warlord’s men, so Lindsay tugged him away from the worst of the throngs towards an intersection where the road branched off into two different streets. One was bright and sunny and just as filled with people. The other was dark, lined with piles of garbage, and totally deserted. 

“Let’s go this way!” Lindsay had said brightly, and pointed down the latter.

“Um,” Gavin replied.

“Come on!” She’d tugged at his hand, but Gavin hesitated.

“Sure you don’t want to go down the path that actually looks like there’s people in it?” he asked dubiously.

“They both lead the same way. If someone is following us, they’d never suspect that we’d go this way,” Lindsay explained, patiently. The more people who were around, the more chance that someone they didn’t want to notice would spot them. Plus, she didn’t want to overwhelm Gavin with more crowds.

Gavin looked very uncertain about this. But before he could argue, there was a flutter of dark wings in the sky, and they both turned to see a black raven landing on a nearby street sign pointing down the brighter lane.

“Oh look,” Lindsay said happily, “Another big bird.”  
  
Gavin was frowning. He reached up and fingered the gold pendant around his neck.

“I don’t like the way it’s looking at us,” he complained.

"It's a bird," Lindsay replied, "It can't help its face."

"It has an evil look about it."

"An _evil look about it!"_

"It's a bad omen," Gavin declared, with all the confidence of someone who'd grown up on a diet of religious myths, "You're right, let's go the other way."

Well. Lindsay wasn't going to complain about that. They continued along the alleyway, Gavin still limping slightly, and to be honest it wasn't even that bad. Well, it was lined with piles of garbage and it was right near the sewage drains from the nearby communal toilets, but it could've been worse. They reached the end of the street, which opened into a road lined with eateries and pubs. Here where the sunlight could reach, she made out a series of shapes in the darkness, and as they got closer she realised they were people, bundled in blankets on the ground. The poor, sick and abandoned, some coughing miserably, others with their heads down and hunched.

"Oh," Gavin said softly next to her. Lindsay put a hand on his elbow and tried to hurry him along, but one old woman was already reaching a hand out to him.

"Spare a few crowns, loves?" she croaked, and Lindsay could already tell from the look on Gavin's face where this was going.

"Of course," he replied, mouth twisting with sympathy, and pulled one of the gold coins from his pouch. Dear gods, Lindsay wasn't sure why the priests couldn't have sent him with, you know... maybe small change instead of pure gold crowns.

The woman's face slackened in shock. Her eyes lit up as she took the coin and grasped Gavin's hand.

"Thank you, son," she said fervently. "Thank you."

Gavin was beaming like the fucking sun and Lindsay tried to pull him away. A man passing along the road paused and looked into the alley as the two of them started to come out.

"New in town?" he demanded, and Lindsay immediately stiffened. He didn't look suspicious, just a middle class guy on his way to have dinner. He glanced between Gavin and the beggar woman, who was scurrying away now, and snorted. "They're fakers, most of them. Bored merchants' wives who want some extra spending money."

"How can you say that?" Gavin demanded, gesturing at the huddled forms. "Look at how they're living!"

Two other men were coming up now, hands outstretched hopefully, and Lindsay saw Gavin turn to them. She kept her eyes trained on the man, one hand on the hilt of her sword. From the sounds of things going on behind her, Gavin was giving them money too. The man just watched, lips twitching.

"The two of you don't look nearly rich enough to be doing that sort of charity," he commented.

Lindsay really did not went to get drawn into this, but Gavin was riled up now. He pushed past her arm to stare up at the man.

"Sol demands that we take care of those around us and show kindness and hospitality to all," he said fiercely, and the man rolled his eyes, turning away.

"Oh, you're one of those Sol freaks. It all becomes clear. You're not dressed like one," he commented.

It was true. They'd dressed Gavin in green rather than his usual bright yellow, to draw less attention. Still, even Lindsay had sense enough to know this wasn't a conversation they wanted to be drawn into. The less anyone knew about where they'd come from, the better.

"We wanted to do a good deed," she said, and pulled Gavin's arm insistently. "Come on."

They pushed past the man and headed down the road, ignoring his laugh after them.

"You're just throwing your money away!" he yelled, and Gavin started to turn back towards him, but Lindsay propelled him down the street until they were too far away. He sighed and turned back to her.

"That was annoying," he said, and she paused, pulling him back against the nearest building.

"You have to be careful," she whispered. "No one can know who we are. The less association we have with Sol, the better."

Gavin stared at her, and Lindsay reached out and tucked the little golden sun pendant around his neck under his shirt. Her hand lingered over his chest for a moment. She could feel the warmth radiating from his heart even from an inch away.

"He can't be right about them faking," Gavin said after a moment, a bothered little frown on his face. "Who would do something like that?"

Lindsay bit her lip.

"Look," she said haltingly. "Gav, I... when I first left the isle and went to Solaire to train, it was a big shock. I learned a lot - not just how to fight, but... the world out here isn't like it is on the island. Some people are selfish and will lie to you to get what they want. Or some people, like that guy, just don't care about anybody. They're not like you and me. They're out for themselves and no one else."

"I don't like that way of seeing things," Gavin whispered, and Lindsay squeezed his arm.

"Me either," she admitted, "But that's how it is. We both need to be more careful."

"You're right." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's just... hard. I know that we can't trust anyone, I know it's dangerous. But I want to. I want to believe the best in people."

"I know, Gav. It's just until we get up North - then this will all be over." She smiled and when he opened his eyes, he smiled too. She jostled his arm and pointed down the street. "Look, there's a tavern - let's get some food and directions. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

 

* * *

 

_We both need to be more careful._

Look, the tavern got off to a good _start_. They had drinks, which Gavin loved - a rare treat - and then the biggest fucking steak that Lindsay had ever seen of an unidentifiable meat that she thought might be deer but Gavin claimed was certainly bear (he was full of shit, of course, as he’d never seen a bear in his life let alone tasted one).

“Any news?” Lindsay asked the bartender, the one person she remotely trusted in the whole establishment. The tavern was a big one, and terribly busy, crowded with a whole lot of travelling tradespeople who seemed to have just arrived in the city as the evening wagons came in. “Especially about the Isle of Sol? I’ve been following the story.”  
  
“Southern law keepers are still looking into it,” he grunted, as he polished a glass. “From what I’m hearing there aren’t many survivors. Those that did make it are too badly injured to say what happened. Looks like the temple was robbed, so they’re guessing bandits or thieves.”  
  
Lindsay bit her lip, turning away. 

_Fuck Taurin_ , she thought, and clenched her fist around her steak knife. _He thinks he’s going to get away with this. Hell, the lawkeepers are probably under his command._

Gavin was staring miserably into his mug of ale, and Lindsay reached out and ran a hand down his back. He looked up and she leaned in close.

“Ramsey will fix everything,” she whispered. “That’s what they promised, right? We just have to get to him and tell him what happened.”  
  
Gavin nodded, and when Lindsay poked his cheek he managed a small smile. 

“Hey you two!” someone called out, and Lindsay twisted to see a group of men sitting at a table nearby. They looked like locals, a bunch of rich-looking toffs just a little older than them, sprawled out with a stack of expensive drinks and grinning roguishly.

The one who’d spoken to them was a handsome young man with dark eyes, a scruffy beard and extravagant gold earrings. He cocked an eyebrow when Lindsay met his eyes.

“New in town?” he asked, and the two of them glanced at each other. Gavin’s eyes were wide - waiting to follow her lead.

“Just passing through,” Lindsay replied, trying to size them up. They didn’t seem armed and they definitely weren’t travellers.

“Come play a game of cards with us,” the guy called out, and jerked his head at one of his friends, who held up a deck of cards and expertly shuffled them together. “I like meeting new people.”  
  
“Don’t trust anyone,” Gavin whispered - at the same time as Lindsay blurted out, “That sounds like fun!”  


Instinctively, because, you know. Cards _were_ fun. She and Gavin used to play a lot of them.

“Lindsay!” Gavin tugged at her sleeve. “Why would you say that?”  
  
“We need directions,” she pointed out, “They look like locals and they’re not armed.”  
  
“Didn’t you literally tell me outside that we shouldn’t be talking to anyone?”  
  
“We won’t tell them anything important,” Lindsay hissed back.

“You are the _worst,”_ Gavin moaned, but got up and followed her over. “Half the time you don’t follow your own advice and the other half the time your advice is just to do the most outrageous thing possible.”

“It’s worked out for me so far,” Lindsay replied, and Gavin just snorted softly - mostly, she knew smugly, because he couldn’t really argue with that. 

“Come on,” the guy said, looking amused at all their whispering as he headed over. He must’ve seen the look on Gavin’s face because he reached out and patted the chair next to him. “No need to be shy, darling, we don’t bite. Where are you folks from?”  
  
“Solaire,” Lindsay said, at the same time as Gavin blurted out, “South.” Which was definitely _not_ where Solaire was.

“He’s from the South, I’m from Solaire,” Lindsay said, after an awkward pause.

“Right,” the guy said. “Just passing through, you said?”  
  
“Travelling north for our mother’s funeral,” Gavin replied, which was a pretty damn good lie in Lindsay’s opinion, though a little grim.

“Oh, you’re siblings?” the man replied, looking genuinely surprised. “You don’t look much like each other.”  
  
“Half-siblings,” Gavin said, confidently.

‘ _You’re on fire!’_ Lindsay mouthed at him, perhaps not quite as discretely as she’d hoped, because everyone at the table shot her a very strange look. The man’s friend started dealing the cards as she pulled out her map and handed it to him.

“We could do with some directions, actually,” she said. “We’re hoping to get to the next village as soon as possible. Do you think it’s possible to reach there by nightfall if we leave in an hour or so?”  
  
“No,” he replied, glancing over at it, “It’s too far, but the forest trail is well lit and merchant caravans pass through it at night. It’s a safe enough journey if you stick to the path. You’d reach there by dawn on foot, sooner if you hitch a ride on one of the wagons.”  
  
“No way to cut through the forest?” Lindsay asked, and he laughed.

“That’s Gramarye Forest, sweetheart, it’s not part of any of the kings’ territories. No one keeps it free of beasts or bandits. I wouldn’t take my chances on it. Although you do seem like quite the fighter. Your crest,” he said, nodding at her armour, “You’re a paladin?”  
  
Shit. She hadn’t covered it up. All she could do was nod, but he just smiled wider.

“Admirable,” he said, and glanced at Gavin, who was watching in silence. “And your brother here?”  
  
“I’m a poet,” Gavin replied, and Lindsay had to fight a snort. The only poetry Gavin had ever written in his life were a series of terrible acrostic poems he’d done as a child as birthday gifts for every priest on the Isle. She was pretty sure most had ended up burned in offering, supposedly in order to ‘show Sol how great they are’.

“Cute,” the guy said, and turned to his friends. “Well, shall we play?”  
  
Gavin still looked a bit dubious, but honestly, the guy’s instructions checked out with what Lindsay had heard, and his friends looked nice enough, and it was very cold outside so she didn’t want to leave just yet. What could the problem be with sticking around here a little longer? She picked up her cards and grinned.

“Let’s.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my gods,” Meg said, “What the fuck are they doing?”  
  
“They’re playing cards,” Michael drawled, swigging at his ale. He seemed bored, if the way his head returned to resting on the table was any indication. A plate of half-eaten ribs sat picked at in front of him. Fair enough, Meg supposed. He’d been stuck sitting around all day listening to the heralds while she did most of the work - flying around town, stalking the pair.

It hadn’t been hard. They stood out like a sore thumb. Maybe they’d _thought_ they were being discreet, but they’d walked on the wrong side of the road, narrowly avoided causing several accidents by jaywalking seemingly without realising it, and spent fifteen minutes getting in people’s way while following a street cat around. She was pretty sure everyone in town had noticed them by now.

At one point, they’d looked at _her_ \- but they hadn’t realised. No one ever did. Who had reason to suspect a bird, after all? It’d been pretty easy after that to collect Michael and lead him here.

Now they sat on the other side of the tavern, watching them.

“Yes, but _why_ are they playing cards?” she asked, throwing her hands up. “They’re on the run! Oh for Sol’s sake, look - now they’re betting _money_ on it. Our boy doesn’t look too happy about that. Are those gold crowns? Fucking hell.”  
  
“A better question is, why are there two of them?” Michael demanded, scowling. “Taurin said he was _alone_.”

“True,” Meg mused, and stared across at them with narrowed eyes.

The girl was young and pretty, with red hair pulled back in a messy braid and a round face spattered with freckles. There was something soft about her - a kindness in her eyes, an innocence to her demeanour. She seemed very smiley, grinning constantly either at the men around her or shooting softer looks at their target, who sat across from her - and she was constantly breaking into peals of laughter so loud Meg could hear them from right across the room. If they were trying not to draw attention to themselves, it wasn’t working.

She was also strong, Meg could tell that much even from here. Her leather armour was reinforced by steel pieces here and there, and the sword that rested across her lap was a big one. It had to be heavy. When she slammed her fist on the table at one point, the whole thing shook. She was quite absorbed in the card game, jovially throwing down pieces with seemingly very little strategy or thought.

“She’s a paladin of Sol,” Meg said, and nodded to the sun engraved in the woman’s leather chestpiece. “Look at her armour.”  
  
Michael squinted across at her, and his eyes widened as he realised she was right.

“What’s she doing with _him_? Shouldn’t she be off guarding a temple or something?”  
  
“Maybe it’s a disguise,” Meg suggested.

“Odd choice of disguise. If she _is_ a paladin,” Michael said, “She’ll know how to fight. We’ll have to take her out to get to him.”  
  
“I have no problem with that-”  
  
She broke off. A commotion had broken out at the table; half the men had risen, shouting angrily, obscuring their view of the girl. She could still see their target, huddled awkwardly in his seat with one knee drawn up, staring up at the tall men around him with wide eyes.

“You’re cheating!” one man roared.

“I’m not!” the girl’s voice cried from somewhere behind them all. “How could I be cheating? I only just learned to play this game!”  
  
“How the fuck are you winning, then? You’re doing everything _wrong!_ ”  
  
“Fortune smiles on her,” their target piped up, and all the men turned to scowl at him. They sat down again, but an air of tension hung over them, and even from here Meg could see shoulders hunching and fists clenching tightly around mugs, cards thrown down with just a little more aggression than usual.

“They seem to be in a bit of trouble,” Michael drawled, knocking back the rest of his drink.

“Why would they trust those men?” Meg asked, frowning, her eyes still on the game. “They’re not the ones cheating, the men are. Look - his dice are clearly loaded.”

“I don’t see it.”  
  
“The way it’s rolling.” She pulled his arm until he looked and pointed. “See? It’s moving too slowly for a die that size. It’s obviously weighted.” Michael gave her an odd look and she slightly awkwardly detached her hand from his arm, giving a faint smile. “One of my brothers was an expert cheater. Spent every night pissing people off in taverns.”

“Maybe she’s a sorceress then,” Michael said, and Meg stiffened, casting another glance at the girl. But she shook her head instantly. She didn’t have the same dark look in her eyes that everyone who unlocked their magic did, didn’t _feel_ like any of the other users that she’d spent so many years around.

“She’s _not_ ,” she said firmly.

“Right.” Michael snorted a bit and shoved his plate and mug aside. “Well, hopefully they wrap this time-wasting shit up and leave the city soon. When they do, we jump them in the forest, as soon as they’re out of eyesight of the city.”  
  
There was something brusque to his manner, and she frowned at him, unable to help noticing the way his fingers drummed impatiently at the table or the twitch to his eye.

_He doesn’t like this._ It’d been obvious from the start, and she bit her lip. Even if he’d told her earlier when she asked that he wasn’t pissed off, she could tell he was uncomfortable, and it was making everything all weird. Seriously, she didn’t like it. Usually they were completely on the same page when it came to jobs. It made it fun - the determination they both had to track down their targets, being able to laugh and joke and come up with ridiculous ideas.

No matter what Michael argued about this not being his passion, he usually did relish the chase, and was as proud of their victories as she was. So she hated this now - how he was sullen and quiet and clearly just wanted to get this over with. It made her feel guilty, and she didn’t like that. Michael was the best partner she’d ever had, and she usually didn’t work well with _anybody_. Something about him was just - perfect. His no nonsense manner and how he wouldn’t take shit lying down, just like her. He didn’t suffer fools gladly and he’d call them out if he saw them.

Not just that - he was funny and kind and treated her like an _equal_ , never looked down on her for being either a woman or a magic user. He respected her talents and complimented them with his own.

So she hated this tension between them. Of course she’d said yes to Taurin’s offer. It was the biggest job they’d ever had, and she’d jumped at the chance to prove herself. Hell, even the bandits they’d taken out before this had boosted their reputation, and that was small fry compared to this.

Some part deep in her relished that. _Look at me now,_ she couldn’t help thinking, knowing how word would spread after they pulled this off. _You doubted me once. See what I can do, what I’ve become? Better than all the rest of you._

_Who’s nothing now?_

Warlord or not, bad guy or not, this was _huge_. Who the fuck cared who they were doing it for? And Michael not sharing in her excitement was casting a shadow over the whole thing. It was fucking annoying.

At least these two looked like easy targets, especially since the guy’s leg was bandaged. They couldn’t outrun them, and they probably couldn’t outfight them, if he was as helpless as Taurin said. 

“No fucking way,” someone at the table said, and Meg looked over again. Another scuffle was happening, everyone getting up from their seats to get a better look at the table, but it was pretty clear what’d happened from the disgruntled looks the men were all shooting each other.

“Looks like I won!” the paladin girl cried cheerfully, and began gathering the coins when suddenly one of the men pulled a knife from his belt and stabbed it down into the table.

“Shit!” their target cried. He leaped up from his stool and started to scramble away, but one of the men grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly back.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snapped.

“Hey, what the fuck?” the girl demanded - a dangerous note in her voice. “I won fair and square.”  
  
“You didn’t.” The ringleader, a young man who would’ve been handsome if his face wasn’t so angrily twisted, was shoving his way towards her now. He slammed a hand on the table, covering the gold. “You cheated. You’re not taking all this money. I don’t know how you did it, but there’s no way you played fairly. How else would you win with no strategy?”

The girl spluttered angrily and soon their voices were both rising as they argued, so loudly that everyone in the room turned to look at them, the words impossible to make out over each other. Their target was squirming in the grasp of the man holding him, but he was much smaller, and couldn’t break free.

Michael leaned in close.

“We can’t let them hurt him,” he hissed. “Taurin was explicit.”  
  
“Wait a sec,” Meg replied, putting a hand on his arm to stop him getting up. Her eyes were still fixed on the scuffle. “Let’s see how she handles it - figure out what we’re dealing with here.”  
  
“I didn’t cheat!” the woman cried finally, “I’m just lucky!”  
  
“You’re not taking our money.”  
  
“You’re the one who _invited_ us to play!”

“That’s before we knew you were a filthy, lying cheater!”

She stood, hand on the hilt of her sword, and they sized up against each other. The bartender threw down his cloth and began to move towards them, a wary look on his face - but before things could escalate further, their target finally managed to twist free. He rushed to his companion’s side, nearly slamming right into her, and leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

Meg’s eyes didn’t move from the woman’s face. Her furrowed, almost childish anger slowly faded as the man whispered to her, turning to resignation, then acceptance. She nodded and turned, sliding the money across the table.

“Keep it, asshole,” she said, “We’re leaving.”  
  
She shoved past the rich local man, and for a moment he looked like he was going to attack - but her companion smiled hopefully up at him and after a second the men parted and let them pass.

They hurried towards the door, past Michael and Lindsay’s table. The man was clutching the woman’s wrist and after a moment she reached out and tugged him closer to her.

“-shouldn’t have even played in the first place,” Meg heard him saying, “It was a bad idea. We just lost more of our gold.”  
  
“I swear I won that game fairly!” She didn’t sound angry, just genuinely confused. “I don’t know why he thinks I was cheating.”  
  
“Let’s just go. Too many people saw that commotion. We need to get far away from here.”  
  
They passed out through the door and Meg turned to Michael. He was frowning.

“How’d she win when he had loaded dice?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” Meg was already rising, grabbing her thick cloak from where it was slung over the back of her chair. “They’re leaving the city. Come on.”

 

* * *

 

The forest trail was a wide, sloping path that led from Luminar to the neighbouring town of Livingstone, lit by torches at intervals - a sturdy dirt road with the tracks of merchants’ wagon wheels worn into it.

Not many people were traveling right now - most, Meg assumed, had left much earlier on to get there while it was still daylight, so they had the trail to themselves. It was nice to get away from the noise and bustle of the city, but the one thing she didn’t anticipate was how cold it was. It was freezing away from the high walls and fires, and despite her armour, thick cloak and fur boots, she was so cold that she walked stiffly, her back aching from holding her muscles taut.

“Fuck, I’m frozen solid,” she hissed eventually.

Michael glanced back at her. Asshole was striding along like it was a balmy summer’s day. Then again, he was bigger and had his bearskin cloak. 

“Warm yourself up,” he replied, raising his eyebrows in what Meg thought indignantly was a rather unsympathetic way. “You literally have fire at your fingertips.”  
  
“I don’t want to waste my magic,” she complained. “It took a lot out of me transforming for so long before.”  
  
“It’s not that cold,” Michael said, with a snort that sent a puff of white mist from his mouth and rather invalidated his point. “When we get to midwinter it’s gonna be worse. But as we get further north it should warm up a little in the centre of the continent.”  
  
“Hopefully we won’t have to chase him that far,” she said, grimly. “All going according to plan, we’ll be heading back south by tonight!”  
  
“I fucking hope so,” Michael said. And then, after a pause in which they miserably trudged several more metres along the road, “Where’d you grow up again?”  
  
“Westverness - but I lived for years at the mages’ college in Ford. It didn’t get very cold there. I’ll be fine,” she added, rubbing her stiff fingers, “I just hate having to tail them so slowly. It’ll be better once we get moving a bit faster.”  
  
Michael paused, rummaging under his cloak for a moment. He produced his gourd and passed it to her. Meg sniffed it suspiciously and pulled a face.

“Jesus, that’s strong!”  
  
“Should warm you up,” he  snickered, and Meg laughed too. She took a few generous swigs. The alcohol burned down the back of her throat and sent a spreading heat through her chest. Michael took a step closer, reaching out and rubbing her arms vigorously for a few moments. She leaned gratefully into his touch as she took another drink. In his woollen robes and fur coat, he looked very snug, and was radiating heat.

“You look warm in that thing,” she said, jealously eying the thick fur, her eyes trailing up to the snarling face of the bear just above his head; its sharp fangs and glinting glass eyes.

“Want it?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Too heavy for me to walk in. But if we camp overnight in this godsforsaken weather I’m absolutely going to steal it.”  
  
“Hey.” He stepped away, pulling his cloak tighter around himself, and she fought the urge to step after him. “I’m not giving this up.”  
  
“It’s big enough to share,” she laughed, and Michael looked uncharacteristically flustered for a moment. He turned away, taking his gourd back and taking a swig himself, and Meg frowned a little, confused. Before she could say anything else, Michael abruptly spoke again.

“You notice something weird about our target?”  
  
Meg blinked; it sounded like he was trying to change the subject, but she wasn’t about to push it. They kept walking.

“No,” she said, “Aside from the fact that he decided to play cards in the middle of going on the run.”  
  
“He was wearing a summer tunic,” Michael said, “And he didn’t put on a cloak when he got outside.” He kicked at one of the footsteps they were following; in this weather, it was easy to trail the pair. They’d left clear tracks in the snow. “He didn’t look cold at all. That’s odd, isn’t it?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Meg replied, “Maybe he had a coat in his bag and put it on when he got out of the city?” They’d let the two of them fall ahead once they left the gates, giving them enough time to get out of eyesight before following.

“I don’t think he did,” Michael insisted.

“Well, I have no idea, then.” She shrugged. “Gods know who this guy even is. Maybe he’s just used to the cold, or he was drugged up on something - who fucking cares? All I’m interested in is catching him.”

Michael hummed. He seemed bothered, but then he’d been acting weirdly this whole job. Meg let him be, and they headed on in silence.

As they drew further from the city, the forest closed in around them - darker overhead, a little stagnant, the crisp smell of fresh snow mingling with the stench of wet leaves and mulch. The light around them fell in emerald slants through the thick leaves of the evergreens. There were few birds here, not in the wintertime, and the occasional faint echoing cry or rustling deep in the trees were all Meg could hear.

It began to grow darker, thicker, the path still worn underfoot and easy to traverse, but alongside them nothing but thick undergrowth rose up on either side, an eerie blackness all that was visible between the trees. The torches still lit their way, each one a comforting glow.

Michael inched a little closer to her side, and she glanced over at him.

"Alright?” she asked.

“I hate Gramarye,” he grunted, glancing warily around. “Every time we come in here it gives me the creeps.”  
  
“People see they’ve seen ghosts in here,” she said, in a spooky voice.

“Shut up!”  
  
“Didn’t realise you were so superstitious,” she teased, but Michael was glancing edgily around now. She couldn’t help but giggle, fondly; he looked so grumpy, his brows all furrowed, but oddly soft too - with his curls and all that fur framing his round face.

“I’ve seen ghosts,” he muttered.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Well, my brothers have. Told me all about them.”  
  
“Sure they weren’t just pranking you?” She elbowed him, dancing away when he swatted at her. “I know what brothers are like.”  
  
“Fuck off, they’re real. A lot of people in my family have seen shit like that. When my grandmother died her spirit returned after the funeral as a giant white moth.”  
  
“Did anyone swat her by accident?” Meg asked, and Michael grumbled and turned away. She laughed, poking teasingly at his shoulder. “Come on, I’m just messing with you.”

Michael might not be religious, but he got all weird about things sometimes. Weirder than she ever did. Meg didn’t believe in anything - it was easier that way, you didn’t end up with all these ridiculous rules to follow about what you could step in, or wear, or look at. Honestly, she would fucking die before wearing one of those stupid Sol pendants that were supposed to grant you a wish if you managed to hold them up to the sun right at noon, when it was highest in the sky. She was pretty sure someone had once caused a cart accident in Solaire when they made such a blinding flash of light that it got in the driver’s eyes. How was that for a wish come true?  
  
Michael had discarded most of whatever weird shit he was brought up with, but now and then he still got all edgy about something. It was usually very amusing - for her, at least.

“It’s just a forest,” she said finally. “I like it here, it’s peaceful.”  
  
And it was - she trailed her hand along a leaf that glistened with frozen dewdrops. They passed under more of it - thin, bare branches covered in sparkling drops of ice that shimmered overhead like tiny crystals. They melted when she passed her hand over them, falling to the ground in little drops. It made her smile.

She could feel the magic in here - the natural sort of magic that thrummed in all living things. There were covens of witches deep in here, she knew - in underground caverns. There were druids’ circles and ancient ruins and hidden chambers filled with buried artefacts. This was no-kings’-land, and all the better for it.

And she liked nothing better than when their journeys took them off the beaten path and into the trees, where they answered to no one but themselves and there were adventures around every corner.

She turned back around to find Michael staring at her with a funny look on his face - eyes a little distant, like he’d been daydreaming. She smiled, and his eyes widened before he smiled back and turned quickly away. She thought his cheeks flushed red for a moment, but couldn’t think what he had to be embarrassed about.

“If anyone comes along, just lie down and they’ll think you’re a hibernating bear,” she said, and Michael rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, idiot, and then they’ll shoot me! Easy pickings! Fine way to end up skewered! What the fuck sort of plan is that,” he added, scoffing, as she burst into giggles. “Fucking hibernate, what the fuck-”

“Shhh!” she hissed suddenly. “I can hear them!” 

They fell silent, and she pulled Michael’s arm. They slipped off the road and into the trees, inching forward. They’d been hanging back, but they must’ve started to catch up on the two, and as they approached, crouched low in the brush, she realised why.

The road expanded into a small clearing before forking in two directions. Their target and the paladin stood in the middle, poring over a map and looking more confused than anyone really should when they had a fucking clearly labelled map and were standing on one of only two main roads that led out of Luminar.

“Gavin! Gavin, listen a second!” the paladin was yelling, over his fast-paced chatter and frantic gesticulating. “Gavin, _no_ , look, we are _here_!”

She stabbed a finger aggressively at the map, shaking it in his face. He finally stopped jabbering on and stared at it, then at the clearing around them.

“But there’s no way we only walked that far,” he said, confused. “It felt like we were moving so fast. I thought we’d travelled miles.”  
  
“It felt fast because we were going _downhill_! We need to go to the right. That’ll take us to Livingstone.”  
  
“Yeah but what if we go left? It looks like we’ll get North faster.”  
  
“How do you figure that?”  
  
“Well, it’s pointed north, innit,” Gavin said, with the airy confidence of someone who had absolutely no understanding of what he was talking about, “Instead of going around through all those towns.”  
  
“But we need the towns to get supplies!” his companion cried, throwing her hands up.  
  
“But left is faster and no one would _expect_ us to go left.”  
  
That actually made her lower her hands and reconsider the map, stroking her chin.

“You’re right,” she said thoughtfully, “It is… the perfect unexpected move. But the supplies!”  
  
“Maybe we can hunt an animal or something,” Gavin suggested, helpfully.

“What sort of animal?”  
  
“I don’t know. A bird maybe,” he said, and Meg had to press her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Or we might find fruits and berries in the wild!”  
  
“But we don’t know what sort of berries are edible.”  
  
“Surely we can survive a little while without food,” Gavin said. “Or Sol might provide them for us.”  
  
“Gav…” she said, in the same sort of long suffering tone that Meg had heard herself use far too many times when Michael looked like he was about to insert himself into other people’s bar fights. 

“What? In all the stories, that’s what happens! Pilgrims find mysterious springs and abundances of fruit! Sometimes,” Gavin continued excitedly, “Birds bring them a piece of bread every day!”

‘ _Oh my gods, do you hear this guy?’_ Meg mouthed at Michael.

Michael nodded. He was trying not to laugh too, his shoulders shaking. Finally he took a deep breath and made a gesture that Meg understood, a strategy they’d pulled on targets a number of times - _get behind them_. Then pointed at the girl - _take her out first_.

“Do you think Taurin wants her alive as well?” he whispered.

“He didn’t say anything about her,” Meg hissed back, “I assume not.”  
  
“But he was so adamant about not hurting him,” Michael pointed out. “What if she’s someone important he just didn’t realise was here, too?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Meg said, “Capture her if you can, but otherwise…”

She gave a dismissive shrug. Michael pressed his lips together, but gave a slight nod. She frowned, not liking his hesitation, but it wasn’t the time to fight about it.

“You know,” the girl was musing, “You are right about that.”  
  
Meg rolled her eyes - _idiots, for fuck’s sake -_ and called on her magic. She thrust her arms up and in a second she was flying into the air with a flutter of wings, arcing high above the trees and flying across to the other side of the clearing. Even if they didn’t catch a glimpse of her, they must have heard her; both of them looked up at the sky.

“There is a bird now!” Gavin cried excitedly, “It’s a sign!”

“Left it is,” the girl declared confidently.

Meg landed in the shrubbery on the other side of the clearing, returning to her human form in one seamless movement - but she wasn’t done just yet. She closed her eyes and her hands flared warm; a bright flame flickered to life in her cupped palms. She stared across the clearing, searchingly - past their two targets, who were now struggling to fold up the map, she could just make out Michael, crouched in the bushes. Their eyes met and he gave her a small nod.

_Now!_

With a sweep of her hand, an arc of fire shot from Meg’s palm and created a roaring blaze of a wall that blocked the left path out of the clearing. The two of them whirled around, eyes widening, and the paladin drew her sword.

“What’s going on?” Gavin cried.

“Fire!” she replied, rather uselessly. “Get back!”  
  
Michael rose and strode towards them. The sun had set by now, and the clearing was lit only by torches and the flickering light of Meg’s wall. In these deep shadows, with his immense sword hanging from one hand and the gruesome bearskin that shrouded most of his form, he cut a terrifying figure, moving towards them with slow, intimidating steps. The two of them backed up against one another, the woman thrusting a hand out to keep Gavin behind her.

“Oh my gods, Lindsay,” Gavin breathed, “It’s the bear man!”  
  
“No fucking way,” Lindsay replied.

_What the fuck?_ Meg thought - she had been intending to step out behind them, but she paused - the two of them were looking at each other with something far too close to _excitement_ , which was… concerning.

“I thought he was a myth,” Lindsay breathed, but Gavin shook his head. He nudged past her outstretched arm and walked _towards_ Michael, who froze in confusion - one hand outstretched placatingly, a gentle smile on his face.

“Great bear man of Gramarye,” Gavin called out, softly. “We didn’t mean to wander into your territory! You don’t need to fear us. We’re peaceful servants of Sol-”  
  
“What the _fuck_ are you on about?” Michael snapped, and Gavin’s eyes widened. He stumbled back, shocked.

“It’s speaking!” he cried, and Lindsay rushed forward and grabbed his arm, dragging him back.

“Gavin, that’s _not_ the bear man,” she began, but Meg had had enough of this nonsense. With a fierce cry she leaped from her hiding place in the bushes, both hands flaring with fire, and with weaving arcs of her arms shot more flames around the clearing, hemming them in. Lindsay spun around, the orange light glinting off the metal of her sword and armour, reflecting in her bright eyes - brows furrowing as she realised the threat. Her eyes fixed on Meg, and for a moment their gazes met - the paladin in her heavy stance, one foot forward and sword raised, Meg with her arms lifted and cape thrown back, eyes flickering bright red as she called on her magic.

Then, with a fierce cry, Lindsay charged towards her, huge sword swinging towards Meg in one mighty blow. She dodged aside at the last minute, pulling her own knife from her waist, but she felt the wind in the sword’s wake as it swung past her, and her heart fluttered with something close to fear - that was a _hell_ of a blow; if it had hit her, it would’ve cleaved her right in two. She danced out of the way as Lindsay spun around, slowed by her heavy armour and weapon.

“Gavin, run!” Lindsay yelled, and in the corner of her eye Meg saw him backing up, hands raised.

Michael was right, she noticed - it was a stupid time to pay attention to it, but Gavin _was_ wearing summer clothes; a short sleeved, lightweight green tunic and thin leggings. His eyes were huge and scared as Michael advanced on him, a length of rope in one hand and his sword in the other.

“Get _out_ of here!” Lindsay called again, “I’ve got them!”  
  
Gavin hesitated - then looked at Michael, and turned on his heel, running towards the edge of the clearing. He didn’t seem phased by the fire at all, but before he could reach it, Michael charged him and tackled him, knocking him to the ground. They fell heavily, raising a cloud of dust, and Meg saw Michael grab his arm and yank him up. She spun around when she saw a flash of metal and Lindsay charging her again.

She narrowly dodged another violent strike, felt the wind lift her hair again. If she tried to block any of them, she knew, her little dagger would shatter; she’d probably break her fucking arm! She ducked another one, frantically weaving together another fire spell - blasted it at Lindsay, but the woman batted it aside with her sword and to Meg’s astonishment the flames flickered and died away into nothing but smoke the second they touched the blade.

_Enchanted,_ she realised with horror - or worse, _blessed_. She could’ve kicked herself for being so stupid. Sol was the god of light and that included fire; of course his acolytes and paladins had all their weapons blessed to resist heat and flame. It was strong magic, founded on centuries of research into powerful spellcasting.

She found herself backed towards her own wall of fire. Narrowly, she ducked another swing of the sword - but Lindsay brought an elbow around. It smashed into Meg’s face and sent her flying; she skidded across the ground, stunned for a moment, her jaw flaring with pain.

She must have shouted, because across the clearing Michael’s head snapped up. He saw her in trouble and abandoned what he was doing, kicking Gavin to the ground and rushing towards her with his sword raised.

“Lindsay!” Gavin cried, from where he was sprawled in the dirt.

Lindsay spun around. She saw Michael charging at her, roaring like a bear, and her brows furrowed in determination. She rushed to meet him and their swords met with a heavy clash. Meg sat up a little, catching her breath. She could see Michael’s arms shaking with the strain of fending off Lindsay’s blow, and as she pressed forward she actually bore down on him a little.

_Gods, she’s strong,_ Meg thought, with a mixture of horror and awe. Everything she’d seen of the paladin so far had given her the impression of someone a little dimwitted; she’d underestimated her, she realised now, and kicked herself.

Michael ducked away and Lindsay stumbled. He darted around her, slashing at her with little quick thrusts, oddly delicate considering the size of his own sword. She struggled to block them all, but when she let out her own roar and hacked at him with great, violent blows, he was hard pressed to dodge them, skipping away to avoid meeting her blade to blade again.

Meg scrambled to her feet and moved to join him. She summoned two more fireballs and cast them at Lindsay’s back, hoping she’d be too preoccupied with Michael to block them. Lindsay must’ve noticed the flash of light; she hurled herself backwards, narrowly avoiding the flames, but was forced to stumble back. Her foot caught on a rock and she fell, catching herself on one knee.

_Got her,_ Meg thought - they advanced and Lindsay raised her sword, but the two of them were closing in now, and she could see Michael grinning.

“Lindsay!” Gavin screamed again. He rose and ran towards them, but he was unarmed and Meg had no idea what he thought he could do. Then she saw him pause, and heard a loud gasp, and caught a blur of green as he thrust his hands towards them-

And then there was a great flash of light, and everything went white, and she knew nothing more.

 

* * *

 

Meg woke up slowly, with a splitting headache. Everything ached and it felt like the worst hangover of her life. It took her a moment to figure out what had happened, and where she was - lying in the dirt in the middle of the clearing, staring up at the starry night sky. The sun had completely set by now, but for some reason she wasn’t cold.

She realised why a moment later. She was lying right next to Michael, who lay unconscious next to her, and they were covered in both her thick cape and his own bearskin cloak. Crackling a little way away from them was a messy campfire, nearly burned down to embers by now, spitting plumes of dark smoke up above them.

“The fuck,” she whispered, and sat up a little, rubbing her temples. She shivered as she accidentally pulled her arms out from under the makeshift blankets; the night air was _freezing_ , and a thin layer of snow had actually built up around them. 

With a jolt, she remembered everything that’d happened. She frantically searched her person, expecting to have been robbed, but nothing was gone - not her knife, not her pouch full of crowns. She drank some water quickly and looked around again. As her eyes adjusted, she found the clearing empty. Her walls of flame had died when she was knocked out, and the two of them were gone.

_Gone_.

“Fuck,” she hissed, “Fuck! Michael!”

She shook his shoulder roughly and he groaned, slowly regaining consciousness. He sat up and blinked blearily around. His hair was all mussed and there was a bruise blossoming on one of his cheeks.

“Meg?” he croaked. “What happened?”

“They knocked us out somehow. Did you do this?” she demanded, and he took a moment to gather himself before looking around. She saw his eyes widen as he remembered what’d happened.

“Do what?” he asked finally.

“Put us under the cloaks like this.” 

He shook his head, and bit his lip.

“No,” he replied quietly. “They must have done it so that we wouldn’t freeze to death…”  
  
He trailed off, thoughtfully, staring down at his bearskin and stroking the fur gently. Meg scowled, confused. She didn’t like it when people behaved unexpectedly, and whoever Gavin and Lindsay were, they were defying everything she usually expected from their targets.

“Idiots,” she muttered finally. “They didn’t take our weapons or even tie us up. Who does that?”

Annoyed, she scrambled to her feet and gathered her cloak, slinging it around herself again. She crossed to the fire and stroked it, reaching out to warm her hands. It was snowing, she realised irritably, which meant any tracks would’ve been erased. Had they gone left, like they said they would? Or tried to trick them by going right? Or might they have ventured off the path and into the forest?

Michael came up by her side. He was sipping from his gourd again, possibly under the logic that alcohol might _ease_ the headache she was sure he was also suffering from.

“Gavin and Lindsay,” he mused, rolling the names over his tongue. “Her fighting style was weird.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“She was strong as fuck but had no strategy at all,” he said. “Made it harder, in a way. I had no clue what she’d do next.”  
  
“I don’t understand how he knocked us out,” Meg complained. “Taurin said he didn’t have magic.”  
  
“Was that magic? It was just a big flash of light.”  
  
“What the fuck else could it’ve been?” she snapped. “I don’t know what sort of spell that was, but it definitely came from him. It wasn’t Lindsay,” she added, “I didn’t sense any in her.”  
  
Michael frowned. They sat for a moment in a glum silence. Meg was spewing, to be quite honest; she had never taken defeat well and something about being bested by those two fools was more humiliating than she liked to admit. This was meant to be an easy job. By all accounts, it _should’ve_ been. If Gavin was as weak as Taurin claimed, they would have finished Lindsay off and been on their way back right now. She picked angrily at a loose thread on the edge of her cloak.

“We can’t approach them like a normal target,” she said finally, “Not anymore. We need to assume they’re dangerous and can do that to us again at any given time. I’ve got the magic cuffs with me, we’ll have to put Gavin in them. Hopefully that’ll stop him doing whatever the fuck it was he did again. And we’ll have to get the jump on them - take them by surprise.”  
  
Michael nodded, but he seemed distracted, staring into the clumsy campfire.

“They didn’t have to do this,” he murmured. “If they hadn’t, we would have frozen to death. They must know we’re after them. Why save us?”

Meg didn’t answer. Why bother thinking about it? She rose and kicked dirt over the fire, drowning it with a sizzle and a final puff of smoke.

“Come on,” she said gruffly. “We can still catch them. Let’s not waste time.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are they following us?” Gavin gasped, as he stumbled over another twisted root on the ground.

Lindsay caught his arm and steadied him. She glanced over her shoulder as they ran, and shook her head. Gavin staggered to a halt, and Lindsay paused with him. He collapsed to the ground, wheezing for breath. They were surrounded by tangled wilderness - he hadn’t realised until they veered off the path just how deep this forest actually was. Now that they weren’t on the section cleared out for carts, the trees grew so close together that he couldn’t see the sky above, the ground was uneven and so covered in thick shrubbery that it was impossible to traverse in some places, and twisted branches and roots constantly blocked their way.

It was also very, very fucking dark. Lindsay had grabbed one of the roadside torches before they left, but everywhere outside the little circle of light was pitch black. Gavin swallowed, a nervous fluttering rising up in his chest.

Lindsay crouched next to him, plunging the tip of her sword into the dirt and leaning heavily on it.

“Wow,” she said, “I’m out of breath! Thought I was fitter than this. Can’t lie, I’m a bit disappointed in myself.”  
  
“I’m dying,” Gavin agreed, and flopped onto his back while he tried to recover. This was the second time in recent weeks he’d found himself running for his life and just like last time, the second the adrenaline faded away he was left with limbs that felt like jelly and a chest that felt like it was on fire.

Literally, _on fire_ \- his heart was blazing so hot that it nearly hurt and on second thought, it probably wasn’t from the mad sprint they’d done away from the clearing. 

_The clearing_ \- he thought again of the mercenaries that’d confronted them, and sat up a bit, turning to Lindsay in concern.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, and Lindsay turned to him with wide eyes before shaking her head.

“No! No, I’m fine. You stopped them just in time, though.” Her face twisted, unhappily. “Gods, that girl’s magic was strong. I’ve never fought a mage before. Speaking of… what the hell was that light?”  
  
“I have no idea.” Gavin stared at the palms of his hands. He’d been as surprised as anybody when the world flashed white and suddenly their two attackers were lying unconscious on the ground.

“You made it, though, right?”  
  
“Yeah, definitely. I… I _felt_ it.” It had sort of - wrenched from his chest with a burning sensation. He’d felt something like electricity course through his veins - down his arms, out every fingertip. He reached up now and rubbed his chest. The burning feeling was dying down but his heart was still throbbing with pulses of unnatural warmth. “My heart feels really hot. It must’ve been the Flame. I didn’t think I could _use_ it.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Lindsay whispered. “The priests never said anything about it?”  
  
“No, never,” Gavin replied, and bit his lip. He couldn’t quite articulate why, but something about this development had made him terribly uneasy. He supposed it was obvious; the Flame was a powerful artefact, Sol’s gift to humankind so that they knew his love, a reminder that he was always present and watching over them. And the priests had been adamant that in the wrong hands, it could be dangerous. But somehow he hadn’t quite put the pieces together that it could actually… well, _do_ things. More things than just sort of sit there for them to pray in front of every morning and night.

“Fucking hell,” Lindsay breathed. She sounded awestruck, and after a moment she reached out and put her hand on Gavin’s chest. He startled a little at the sudden touch, and saw her eyes widen. “You’re burning up.”  
  
“I hope it cools down soon,” he said a bit miserably. “I’m really feeling far too warm.”  
  
“It’s freezing, though,” she pointed out, pulling back and pulling her own cape around her. Gavin just shrugged; he hadn’t felt the cold once since leaving the island, and he was usually pretty sensitive to it - the one to sleep under a blanket during the island’s winter even though everyone else was fine with just a sheet. “What else do you think you can do with it?”  
  
“I don’t know,” he said, and clawed angrily at his chest. “I don’t _want_ to know. Do you think they’re okay?” he added. “What if they died? We don’t know what this thing did to them.”  
  
“They’re fine, Gav. They were breathing when we left them.”  
  
“But what if the fire goes out and they freeze?” he whispered.

“Gav, they’ll be _fine_. Besides,” Lindsay said, like she was only just realising it, “They were trying to _kill_ us. They probably work for Taurin. Hell, the second they wake up they’re likely to be after us again… shit.”  
  
Gavin bit his lip. It was true, but he didn’t think he’d ever actually _hurt_ someone before, bar the occasional wrestling matches with Lindsay as a kid. On the Isle of Sol they were taught to respect life where possible; he remembered catching the big spiders that sometimes got into their huts in coconut shells and gently depositing them outside. 

“Remember that time I cried for hours after stepping on a butterfly,” he said.

“Gavin, you were seven.”  
  
“Yes, but it _died_ , Lindsay! And two _humans_ are a hell of a lot bigger than a _butterfly_.”  
  
Lindsay was silent for a moment. She looked a bit uncomfortable. After a moment she reached out and pulled him to his feet; Gavin let her, looking around the dark forest. He suddenly realised just how cold it was in here, and how far they’d wandered off the path. With snow falling down around them, every direction looked the same. 

“Are we lost?” he whispered.

“No,” Lindsay said, unconvincingly. “I know exactly which direction we went.”  
  
“Where’s the map?” Gavin asked, and in the awkward pause that followed they both replayed the evening’s events in their minds until they got to the part where they were attacked, and Lindsay dropped the map, and never picked it up again, whereupon they turned and stared at each other with twin expressions of horror.

“Fuck,” Lindsay said, but the words were barely out of her mouth than a flutter of wings in the trees made them both jump.

“It’s a bat,” Gavin said - but he hadn’t heard it chitter, and a second later a chill ran down his spine, some instinct making him turn. At the very edge of the circle of firelight, an enormous black raven sat on the branch of a tree, head cocked and staring at them.

“It’s the same bird,” he realised. “It’s following us! Do you think it’s a messenger of Sol?”  
  
He turned to Lindsay excitedly, but his smile faded the second he saw the look on her face. Her brows were furrowed, eyes darker than he’d ever seen them - and as he watched, she slowly stepped towards the bird and drew her sword.

“Lindsay,” he hissed, and caught at the edge of her cape. “It’s just a _bird_.”  
  
“Like you said,” she replied slowly, her eyes never leaving the creature, “It’s been following us. This is no messenger of Sol, Gavin. It’s some sort of black magic.”  
  
The bird tipped its head back and let out a screeching caw that made Gavin flinch. It sprang forward - both he and Lindsay leaped back, startled - but as it swooped towards the ground it suddenly swirled with a cloud of shimmering, dark energy. As he watched its wings stretched upwards and extended into slender human arms; its raven feathers transformed into black leather. As its head turned a tangle of dark hair shook free, and the next thing he knew, the woman from before was landing gracefully on the ground and striding towards them, hands extended dangerously at her sides.

“Aren’t you smart?” she said, staring at Lindsay. Her eyes were cold and _furious_ , Gavin realised - and a moment later, both her palms lit up with fire, sending the clearing flaring with a warm glow.

_Gods,_ he thought, even as he gasped and stumbled back. He hadn’t gotten that good a look earlier - he was too busy panicking and then sorting out the hopefully-just-unconscious bodies - but she was _beautiful_. He hadn’t seen much magic before and for a moment he stood, transfixed. Even as she stalked towards them, her face hard and dangerous - there was something so powerful about the woman, despite her small frame. The flames reflected in her eyes, the way they glinted off the hair that tumbled around her shoulders in loose curls - for a moment, he couldn’t look away-

“Gavin, get back!” Lindsay yelled, and he stumbled as she shoved him aside and lunged in front of him, sword raised. He shook himself and snapped out of it, watching in horror as Lindsay advanced on the woman.

They’d won the last fight - but this time the sorceress seemed to be prepared. She put her fingers to her lips and blew a long, high whistle.

“What the-” Lindsay began, but broke off as arrows suddenly fired from the darkness behind them - one, two, three, four in rapid succession. Gavin whirled around and barely managed to duck one, the danger not quite striking him yet - a second later Lindsay was tackling him.

He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Lindsay was sprawled over his legs, groaning. The arrows were still coming one after another from the bushes - oddly, they seemed to circle them, not quite hitting their targets but striking the ground close to Gavin’s hand, and another by his head.

He felt the wind of one brushing overhead, and panic spiked through his chest. Scrambling backwards, he rolled away just in time to see Lindsay stumble to her knees. One arrow caught in the shoulder of her armour; it punctured the leather but not her skin. She raised her sword just in time to block another.

“Now, Michael!” the woman cried, and blasted a stream of fire at Lindsay. She barely managed to lift her sword, blocking it with a cry - but she fell to the ground, the woman advancing on her, the flames shooting from her palms in a relentless stream. Even though it turned to smoke as it touched Lindsay’s enchanted blade, Gavin could see it bearing down on her - she fell backwards, barely managing to keep her sword raised to block it, arms trembling with the strain.

“Lindsay!” he cried - he stood, helpless as he scrambled to his feet. He thrust his hands out - but the light didn’t come; he didn’t know _how_ to call on the magic. For a horrible moment he could only stare, tentative thoughts about tackling the mage crossing his mind.

“Gavin, run!” Lindsay yelled, and threw her torch towards him with her free hand before falling back under the onslaught. Gavin turned and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of the bear man emerging from the trees behind them - a hulking, menacing silhouette, the firelight glinting off its sharp teeth and glassy eyes.

Frantically, he snatched up the torch and ran into the darkness.

For a moment, sheer, blind panic overtook him. He didn’t spare a thought for the direction he was going or what might be out there, in the depths of Gramarye. He just crashed mindlessly through the undergrowth, breath coming in heaving gasps, his heart pounding in his ears the only noise he was conscious of. He stumbled a few times, tripping and grazing his hands on the rocky ground before picking himself back up again. The knees of his trousers were wet from the snow.

_Come on, come on, come on, come on-_

(He’d run like this once before, to get to the boat, the crackle of fire and distant screams ringing in his ears, the temple at the top of the hill dark dark dark-)

For a second, he glanced over his shoulder. The bear man was following him; he could see the flickering red light of his torch and his dark, looming silhouette chasing him through the forest. Could hear his heavy footsteps, his grunts and laboured breathing-

“Ow!” he cried, as he crashed into some low hanging branches in his distraction. They caught at his face, scratching his cheeks and jaws - he yelped in pain, hands going up to shield his face, and with a splintering _crack_ fell through the branches and down the steep decline just beyond them which he had failed to see in the dark.

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_ was all he could think as he tumbled down the hill, bumping against rocks and tree roots and all sorts of shit on the way down. He landed at the bottom with another bruising _thud_ and the torch rolled out of his hand; the flame flickered, but mercifully didn’t go out.

“Damn it…” he whispered, clambering to his feet and hissing in pain as he put weight on his sprained ankle. He brushed himself down - his hand came away from his side bloody, but a quick inspection revealed it was just a nasty scrape - and limped towards the torch only to freeze at a flicker of light in the corner of his eye.

He could see the man - _Michael, is that what she called him?_ \- standing at the top of the hill, a spot of flickering light. In a snap decision, he left his own torch behind and rushed into the darkness instead, heading for the nearest tree and hauling himself up through the branches.

He’d climbed a hell of a lot of trees as a child and although his injured ankle made things more difficult, he quite quickly got himself about halfway up the tree, where he nestled back against the trunk and pulled as many leaves before him as possible. In the dark he felt something crawl across the back of his neck; he squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a whimper, trying not to think about just how high up he was.

Breathing heavily, he watched as Michael’s light descended the hill - skidding a little on the slippery bits - before he landed at the bottom and looked around. In the glow of the torch Gavin got a good look at him; a fearsome looking creature with that snarling bear stretched over his head and shoulders, with dark eyes and a scowl on his face. In one hand he held the biggest sword Gavin had ever seen - an enormous blade that sparkled in the firelight.

_Is that diamond? Gods, that must be bloody expensive_!  
  
Michael swung his torch around. The light swept across the forest and Gavin shrank back as for a moment, it flashed across his own face - but he was well hidden, and it passed without incident.

“ _Ga-vin_!” Michael called out, and a shiver ran down his spine at the fact that Michael knew his name. “Come out now. I know you’re there.”

He stepped forward. Gavin got another look at that sword, the light glinting off its razor sharp edge, and he flinched. For a moment, the Isle flashed behind his eyes - the way blades had cut through bodies so easily, priests with no armour or weapons to protect themselves - how blood had soaked into the sand and churned in the ocean water, violence on a scale he’d never seen before - his breath quickened, panic rising in his chest, gripping the tree until his hands hurt. He forced himself to try and breathe slowly - _focus, stay focused_.

“I’m not here to kill you,” Michael called, as he paced along the treeline, peering into the darkness. He hadn’t looked _up_ yet - for now Gavin was safe. “Come on out and I promise I’ll be gentle.”  
  
He stepped towards the base of the tree Gavin was in. Gavin’s voice was shaking - but a mad idea struck him and he called out, “Stop right where you are or I swear I’ll blast you again - and this time you won’t just get knocked out!”  
  
To be quite honest he couldn’t blast the man if he tried; he had no clue how to call on the magic. But Michael froze, and he saw his shoulders stiffen warily. He looked up for the source of the noise and spied Gavin high in the tree, taking a few steps back to see him properly. Their eyes met and Gavin tried his best to glare, to not look as fucking terrified as he felt.

“You got magic,” Michael said slowly.

“Yes!” Gavin cried, his voice higher pitched than he liked. “A bloody lot of it! Who sent you? Taurin?”  
  
Michael paused. He didn’t answer, just looked around slowly, hefting his sword and apparently weighing up his options. Gavin waited, breathlessly. When he raised a hand Michael stepped back, flinching a little. _Good. He is scared_.

For a second, he actually felt like he might be able to bullshit his way out of this. That feeling lasted about two seconds, then Michael spoke again.

“We have your friend,” he said, and Gavin’s blood ran cold.

_Lindsay! Fuck, fuck, he’s right - she’s still back there - they still have her_. He’d been hoping she’d manage to fight her way out of things somehow. Lindsay was good like that; no matter how hopeless a situation looked she could always come up with something crazy that managed to work out for her against all odds.

His grip tightened on the branch next to him, gaze darting around the forest like a cornered mouse in front of a cat.

_You have to rescue her!_

_But how? You’re useless! You can’t pray your way out of this one._

Michael was watching him closely, and from his smirk it was obvious he’d realised this was Gavin’s weak spot.

“We haven’t killed her yet,” he continued, “But it’s not her we’re after. It’s you. So if you don’t cooperate, we won’t have much incentive to keep her alive, will we?”

“Your accent,” Gavin called back in a small voice. “You’re… you’re not from the south. How come you work for Taurin?”  
  
Michael froze again. He was staring at Gavin like he thought the question was somehow a trap. Gavin stared earnestly back at him. With shit all other options, he thought, he could only do what he’d always done: hope for the best, including hoping for the best in _others_. Maybe, he thought frantically - maybe this guy could be convinced not to hurt them, if Gavin could only _understand_ him.

“I didn’t ask for a fucking conversation,” Michael snapped finally, shattering those hopes in an instant. “I’m giving you a chance to make this easy on yourself - and on your precious Lindsay. Come on, asshole, get down here. Or do you not care about her?”  
  
Gavin swallowed hard, feeling heavy. His worry for her was thrumming in the pit of his chest. _Of course I care. I care about her more than anyone in the world._

But he froze, one hand going to his chest, the warmth that still throbbed dimly in there. _The mission - but the_ mission. The hands gripping his shoulders and how fierce the high priest had looked as he leaned in and told Gavin, _you can’t let anyone stop you. This is what you were born for, what you’ve been waiting for your whole life. You cannot fail. Get this to Ramsey at any cost. Nothing else matters more than this._

His fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt - after a moment, he dug out his sun pendant and squeezed that instead.

_Sol, help me, what do I do?_

_It’s Lindsay._

_It’s_ Lindsay.

“Don’t hurt her - please,” he said quietly, and from the grin that stretched across Michael’s face he knew the other man could tell he had him here. He spread out his arms, shrugging helplessly up at Gavin.

“Ain’t on me, mate,” he said. “It’s all on you.”  
  
Gavin gulped. He waited one moment more, just in case Sol wanted to send some sort of last-minute rescue like in all the stories. But nothing happened, just a long, awkward silence before he gathered his courage and climbed down the tree.

Michael let out a barking laugh, though he still looked wary - holding the torch up in front of him like he could ward off any magic with his own circle of light. Gavin flinched a little as he stepped into the torchlight. 

“You don’t look like one of Taurin’s men,” he managed. “They usually all wear black.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter who I fucking am,” Michael snapped. “Are you armed?”  
  
“No,” Gavin whispered.

“None of that magic shit,” Michael warned, “Or my friend cuts her throat.”  
  
“I won’t do anything,” Gavin said miserably.

He stood there, hands hanging by his sides as Michael stepped closer to him, trying to ignore how fast his heart was pounding. Michael walked closer, and closer, until they were staring right into each other’s eyes.

He was actually a lot shorter than Gavin had realised, he noticed with a sort of absent helplessness. The bear head gave him an extra six inches if not more. And his face was spattered with freckles. This close, Gavin knew Michael must see how scared he was.

Michael reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him around. He tugged Gavin’s wrists behind his back; Gavin let him, helpless to resist - not when they had Lindsay. He felt Michael pause.

“Oh my gods,” he muttered. “The world’s biggest spider is on the back of your shoulder.”  
  
So that was why his neck had been so itchy. Figured. He stiffened, and Michael took a step back. _Scared of a spider!_

“Can you catch it?” Gavin squeaked.

“Catch it?” Michael growled, “I’m gonna fucking kill it! Hold still so I don’t break you in half by accident. How are you not freaking out?”

“I grew up on an island. We have so many spiders there. Don’t kill it, Michael, you need to _catch_ it.”  
  
There was a long pause in which Gavin could only assume, very hopefully, that Michael was looking for a big leaf or something to catch it with. But then the other man spoke again - a wary growl.

“How do you know my name?”  
  
“Your friend said it,” Gavin pointed out, and the next silence was a bit embarrassed. The next thing he knew there was a hearty whack on his shoulder blade; he yelped, curling up, though it had barely been hard enough to bruise.

“Is it dead?” he demanded. “Don’t kill it!” Michael was stomping around on the ground. He looked like he was doing the world’s most aggressive tap dance. “Let it live! It never did anything to you!”  
  
Michael stopped and stared at him, a funny look on his face. After a moment he let out a disgruntled sort of coughing sound and roughly shoved Gavin a step away. The next thing he knew, metal cuffs were being pulled tight around his wrists.

“How’s that feel?” Michael grunted.

“Like handcuffs?” Gavin asked, a bit unsure if it was some sort of bizarre rhetorical question.

“Nothing feels different?”  
  
“No?” Gavin asked, and instantly knew it was the wrong answer; when he glanced over his shoulder Michael’s face was pinched and worried. He shook the cuffs a few times and Gavin winced - then Michael grabbed his shoulder and began to shove him along, keeping a tight hold on his arm as they began to trudge back up the hill. He’d sheathed his sword now, to Gavin’s relief, and was holding his torch in his other hand.

As the adrenaline and fear faded, Gavin felt nothing but thoroughly miserable. Things had really been going rather well, until this point. He’d managed to get off the island, meet up with Lindsay, flee out of Taurin’s territory, and for the last two weeks no one had given them too much trouble. And now here he was, helpless and bound and at the mercy of Michael the weird bear person. It was, quite frankly, both pathetic and embarrassing. He could only hope they’d get out of this somehow.

The silence was wearing on him as they headed through the dark forest. All the trees looked the same to Gavin but Michael was leading them with a confident ease, tugging on Gavin’s arm now and then to steer him in the right direction.

“Your bear cloak is really soft,” Gavin said sadly, after he could stand it no longer. He’d been staring at it in fascination since they started walking.

To his surprise, Michael stiffened. He’d thought it was a rather innocent statement.

“You cover us up with that shit back at the campfire after you knocked us out?” he demanded, gruffly.

“Yes?”  
  
“Why?” Michael asked, and stopped walking, spinning Gavin roughly to face him. Gavin stumbled, a little shocked, staring at Michael with wide eyes.

“Because I didn’t want you to freeze to death!” he replied. “It’s so cold out here.”

Michael stared at him, looking almost confused. Gavin had never seen someone thinking so _visibly_ before, and certainly not so hard; he was practically squinting, his face all scrunched up.

“Bet you wish you’d just left us there, now,” Michael said finally.

“No! Of course not,” Gavin exclaimed. “You should never just leave another human to die. It’s not the right way.”  
  
“The _way_ ,” Michael scoffed, and rolled his eyes. “Of course. Your friend’s a paladin. You’re both Sol freaks, aren’t you? So that’s why you did it. That shit’s gonna get you killed, you know.”

Gavin’s friendly smile faded, fear and despair flooding him again.

_Killed._

_He’s gonna take you to Taurin._

_Even if he and his friend don’t hurt you, kill you, they’re gonna deliver you right into the Warlord’s hands, and that’s gonna be even worse. You’ve heard the stories about the sort of things he does. You’ve_ seen _what he did on the Isle._

_Gods, they’re gonna take Lindsay, too._ He shook himself - didn’t want to think of that, _couldn’t_. Just the notion made his skin crawl with dread.

“Apparently,” he whispered.

Michael seemed a little startled by his sudden quietness. Even so, Gavin could tell something about the whole exchange had disturbed him. After a moment Michael turned and pulled his arm to get him to keep walking again. The silence again built up until Gavin could hardly bear it; he was nervous, and when he was nervous his tongue tended to run away with itself.

“Your friend turns into a bird,” Gavin said. “Do you turn into a bear?”

“Shut up,” Michael said.

“If I could turn into an animal I’d want to be a cat. They just lie in the sun all day. What a damn life, right?” 

“Do you not realise you’re a prisoner?” Michael snapped - he sounded annoyed, and Gavin swallowed.

_Yes. How could I forget? But surely, surely under all that bearskin and diamond you’re as human as anyone else. Please the gods, let me get through somehow_.

“Just making conversation,” he said - Michael turned his head away with a grunt but it was only a few moments before Gavin couldn’t stand the silence once more.

“I wouldn’t mind being a bird,” he declared, “As long as it wasn’t an ibis. They bloody stink. And their poos are so huge and wet-”  
  
He broke off with an involuntary gag and Michael stopped. He saw him roll his eyes, heard him take a deep breath and mutter ‘ _oh my fucking gods’_ under his breath. After a moment he tightened his grip on Gavin’s arm and yanked him along.

“Did you kill that bear?” Gavin asked, squirming in his painful iron grip.

“Can you shut the fuck _up_!” Michael spat. “You’ve already given me one headache tonight!”  
  
“Sorry,” Gavin said meekly. “I was just thinking that I could never skin an animal. It’d be horrible. Especially something like a bear that has such a cute big face. I’ll shut up now.”

He fell silent, kicking at the ground as he walked. The cuffs were starting to hurt his wrists and the dark trees around him were making him feel dizzy. There was something strange about Michael, something he really couldn’t put his finger on. 

He supposed he’d never been good at reading people. After all, he’d spent his life around the same twenty men and women on a fucking deserted island. He’d run into very, very few strangers for most of his life. But Michael - Michael was casting him little sharp glances every so often, and seemed to be thinking very hard about every word Gavin said, and there was something about the twist of his mouth that was… _strained_. Almost like he didn’t want to be here.

“I didn’t kill the bear,” Michael grunted after a while. “You happy now?”

Gavin stared at him, surprised he’d bothered to answer.

“Well, someone killed it!” he exclaimed, and Michael shook his head in exasperation and shoved him along. Gavin sadly walked on. He’d hoped to get more than that out of his captor; he was young, after all, and didn’t look much like Taurin’s usual soldiers, in their uniform black with their hair slicked back and their ugly, cold eyes. They looked like statues. Michael, on the other hand, was fierce as fuck, even if most of the time he seemed to be wearing a scowl.

And when Gavin tripped over a large tree root, he did steady him, carefully setting him upright again before leading him on. Puzzled, Gavin continued on quietly, hoping that another flash of light would eventually come along and save them. That would be lovely.

 

* * *

 

Michael had tracked down a lot of people in his time - some to kill, some to capture, some for city lawkeepers and some for corrupt officials. None of them had ever left him feeling as fucking weird as this job did.

Was it just because it was Taurin they were working for, and he hated the man's guts after the stories he'd heard about the things he'd done?

Or was it Gavin - Gavin who he couldn't figure out? It wasn't just the fucking weird ass conversation he'd tried to strike up when Michael was literally tying him up to lead him to his doom. It was the fact that he was clearly terrified, but cared about his friend enough not to run when he had the chance. The fact that he wasn't a criminal or soldier or nobleman or any of the usual sorts Michael dragged in, but...

Well, he actually wasn't quite sure what Gavin was.

_Gentle,_ he supposed. Maybe a priest or an acolyte? He was certainly crazy enough about Sol to be one.

Something about him just made Michael feel awkward. Too gruff, too violent, too dirty. Usually he didn't give two shits about that, but right now he felt like he was ill-fitting in his own skin, and he didn't like it.

_He saved us_. He couldn't stop thinking about that. _Could've left us to die back there, anyone else would've._ I _would've. And he didn't, and now we're gonna drag him back to the Warlord who'll do gods know what to him. Certainly nothing pleasant._

Usually he wouldn't care, would just think Gavin stupid and laugh about his good luck. So it annoyed him, now, that he couldn't figure out what was so different about all this. The whole situation felt uncomfortable and if he was just a little more superstitious he might almost take it as some sort of premonition.

He was glad to see firelight flickering through the trees ahead, to know that Meg was through there. Her presence was always reassuring; she had her shit together more than anyone else he knew, could explain things so simply that Michael was usually left wondering how he'd even been uncertain in the first place.

They emerged into the clearing and he smiled at the sight of Meg - standing over the fallen Paladin, one hip cocked and picking at her nails. Something about how nonchalant she seemed made it easier to try and pretend this was just a normal job.

Lindsay was on her knees, hands bound behind her back and surrounded by a ring of fire. One eye was swelling with a dark bruise, and Meg sported a twin injury from where she'd been hit in the face before; a parallel swirl of blue and angry purple over one cheekbone. Lindsay's sword was leaning against a nearby tree.

"Good job, Meg," Michael called out. "Knew she wouldn't best you twice."

"Oh, shut up," Meg said, but rolled her eyes, looking a lot more satisfied now.

"Gavin!" Lindsay called out, and struggled frantically in her bonds, straining to look at him through the flickering wall of fire. Michael's grip tightened on Gavin's arm when he felt him tense in response, but he just met Lindsay's eyes and shook his head sadly. Michael saw the disappointment, then despair, cross her face before she visibly shook it away. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he replied quietly.

Michael dragged him to the other side of the clearing and shoved him to his knees; he made a little whimper of surprise when he hit the slush of melting snow and mud. Meg waved a hand lazily, and the flames disappeared. Michael saw the two prisoners' eyes meet for a moment, desperately, and then Gavin twisting his wrists in the cuffs.

"Those are magic," he said, ruffling Gavin's hair mockingly as he crossed the clearing to stand with Meg. "They stop mages drawing on their mana. So good luck blasting us again."

"He's not a mage, though," Lindsay called out, and Michael stiffened, confused. "Look, you're making a big mistake here-"

"A big mistake worth fifty thousand gold crowns," Meg drawled, and stepped forward. "Search him for any weapons. Everything non-vital gets left in this clearing."

She moved towards Lindsay and started buckling the unstraps of her armour. Lindsay's eyes widened and she thrashed, Meg angrily shoving at her shoulder to keep her down.

"Hey, what the fuck-"

"Don't fuss, I'm not taking all your clothes," Meg snapped. "Just anything useful."

She started pulling hair pins from Lindsay's braid; she hissed like an angry cat and Michael turned away and began searching Gavin's robes instead. He wondered again how the other man wasn't fucking freezing; the fabric of his tunic was thin and light but the hair on his arms wasn't even standing on end. There was a gold chain around his neck; he yanked it off, rolling his eyes at the Sol pendant. Gavin flinched.

"Can't I keep that?" he whispered.

"No."

"Please." It took a moment for Michael to realise he was actually pretty fucking desperate; he leaned forward, eyes huge, as he begged, "I just... it's very precious to me."

"They sell these for a brass crown at any roadside stall in the city," Michael said dismissively. After how unsettled he'd felt before there was no fucking way he was gonna give even a little leeway. He tossed it away into the pile that Meg was making and Gavin made a noise like Michael had punched him in the face.

He searched the rest of Gavin's robes, but he really had fuck all; more handkerchiefs than one man should reasonably use, a piece of questionable looking soap wrapped in a bit of paper, a stick of charcoal. The purse of gold crowns, of course, now half empty. Michael took that and frowned as he tossed the rest.

_That can't be it._

"Where's his bag?" he called.

"Here," Meg said, throwing it to him. Michael caught it with one hand and rummaged through it. His frown only deepened.

"She got one?" he asked.

"No."

Michael upended the bag just to make sure he wasn't mistaken. Sure enough, there was practically nothing in there. Some stale bread, a water gourd that was mostly empty, some flint, a whetstone. A rag and some oil to clean armour.

"Keep that," Meg said, turning and looking over his shoulder. "We can use it."

"It's not that..." Michael said, and his confusion must've shown in his voice; Meg stiffened, sensing his uncertainty, instantly alert.

"What's the problem?"

"Taurin said that he was carrying something." He jerked his head at Gavin. "Said that's what he needed him for. Remember? But there's nothing here."

Gavin was staring at him with wide eyes and Michael knew he was listening to every word he said. He stared back, searching for the answer in the other man's face - but for someone who talked so much, his face was suddenly fucking unreadable.

_Gods, his eyes are creepy._ They were green like they'd been painted, and in-person his features were even more pointed and elf-like. Every time Michael looked at him he felt like he was having a fucking flashback - like one of the characters from his picture books about the Fey that he'd read as a child had stepped right from the page. He'd spent too much time running in the fields of his family’s land searching for fairies until his father put a stop to such childish behaviour.

Meg was frowning too, but after a moment she shrugged.

"We don't know what it is," she pointed out. "He didn't say anything about having to find it, just to bring Gavin to him."

"Yeah, but-"

"But it's probably information, and that's why he wants him alive."

That... made a lot of sense, and Michael felt a bit stupid for not thinking of it immediately. He turned to look at Gavin, who was looking away now and fidgeting uncomfortably.

_What could a guy like him possibly know that's so important to the Warlord? Who the fuck is he?_

"You have the wrong people!" Lindsay cried suddenly, with such brash confidence that if it wasn't so stupid Michael might almost have been impressed.

"Shut the fuck up," Meg said, rolling her eyes.

"You literally asked if we worked for Taurin," Michael pointed out, and Meg laughed and then reached out to touch his arm.

"We should move now," she murmured. "This is too important to waste time."

"Of course," he said. This still felt odd, but the could figure everything out later. Right now it was time for the easy part; the routine they always took with jobs. Efficiently, he piled all the others' belongings - armour, bag, Gavin's assorted junk - into a single heap. Meg cast a fire spell at it, and a second later the whole lot went up in flames.

_"No!"_ both prisoners yelled, surging forward.

"What?" Michael snapped, turning to them. "It's all just rubbish!"

"My pendant!" Gavin cried.

"That's just a junk souvenir," Meg sneered.

Gavin looked on the verge of tears, and for a second Michael couldn't help feeling bad. This was a new and thoroughly unwelcome sensation. He didn't think he'd felt bad about anything in his life before, certainly not a target. It wasn't even the first time they'd brought in a religious mark either; he'd probably lost the favour of every god on the continent by this point for the amount of pendants, pictures and statuettes he'd chucked on the fireheap.

Maybe it was because Gavin wasn't shouting or protesting. He'd just gone white, staring at the fire with red-rimmed eyes, and looked almost disbelieving - like he couldn't believe anyone was that mean.

"Why did you do that?" Lindsay asked, sounding just as shocked. "He can't use it to escape!"

"He won't need it where he's going," Meg said, and for a second Michael felt a thrill of horror that took him by surprise. Something about the statement - about Meg saying it - about looking at Gavin, kneeling there all small in his green robes, and imagining the Warlord towering over him. He shook himself.

"You're awful," Lindsay was saying, with something almost like amazement. "You're both so cruel."

"Who are you people?" Gavin whispered.

"They're bounty hunters, Gav," Lindsay said, and scowled. "They kill people for money."

"But why?" Gavin asked, miserably, and turned to Michael - who swallowed, uncomfortable at being addressed. "Why would you choose that path in life?"

For a second, he froze. It wasn’t like it was a particularly fucking _new_ question - Meg had asked him once, near the start of their acquaintance - and it wasn’t even that he wasn’t particularly inclined to tell a stranger his personal details. What made him pause was that for a second, it was _Taurin_ who flashed into his mind - _when you find your passion, you need to stick with it_.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped finally.

Meg was glaring at Gavin and motioned vigorously at Michael to blindfold them.

“That’s enough chatter,” she said sharply. “Next person to say something useless gets gagged.”  
  
“Something useless,” Michael said immediately, and grinned when she rolled her eyes at him. He marched forward and grabbed Gavin, holding him still as he pulled a cloth from his pouch and wound it carefully around his head. Gavin didn’t struggle, in fact, he went very still as the cloth folded over his eyes - almost calm. Michael patted him on the shoulder - he meant it mockingly, but Gavin leaned into the touch like a fucking cat. Unsettled, Michael quickly walked over to Lindsay.

If Gavin had been calm, Lindsay was definitely not; she began struggling and spitting as Michael tried to get the blindfold over her head.

“Get your fucking hands off me, you barbarian!” she screeched.

Michael had to laugh.

“I’m the furthest thing from a barbarian you’ve probably ever met, paladin,” he said, and Lindsay managed to shake him off for a second, twisting to glower up at him. Her hair was hanging out in lank tufts around her face where Meg had pulled the pins out of her braid. She looked like a cat that’d been given an electric shock.

“You’re an asshole,” was her eloquent response to that, “An _evil_ asshole, and you have no _idea_ the extent of what you’re doing here! Is money really worth that much to you?”  
  
“The gag is right here,” Michael warned, “And it’s called my used sock, so I’d shut up if I was you.”  
  
Lindsay spat at him, but he dodged it easily and shoved the blindfold over her eyes, pulling it tight and knocking it before dragging her to her feet. He marched over to Gavin and yanked him up too, tying them together with a rope looped tight around their waists. Meg was tapping her foot impatiently, and Michael grabbed Gavin’s shoulder, pulling him forward.

“Keep up if you don’t wanna go straight into a tree,” he warned.

Gavin was silent. Michael fidgeted; as much as he’d wanted the idiot to shut up before, the sudden change in demeanour was disconcerting now. But Meg came up next to him as they started into the treeline and peered up at him, something a little concerned in her gaze.

“Ready to go?” she murmured, and he nodded. She reached up and squeezed his shoulder with a small smile and with her looking so relieved and proud it was hard not to smile back too, just a tiny one. They walked off into the trees, dragging their prisoners with them.

 

* * *

 

They stayed off the path, heading back through the trees for about twenty minutes until Michael figured they’d have disoriented Lindsay and Gavin enough that if they did somehow manage to escape, they wouldn’t get far. Then again, considering the navigational skills the two of them had displayed earlier when they were arguing over the map, he didn’t think they had much of a chance anyway.

Still. With that task done, they stopped for the night - it was snowing too heavily now to keep going, and so dark that it was getting hard for even the two of them to navigate, not to mention Michael was fucking exhausted. They’d been up since before dawn. They took shelter in a clearing and he built up a campfire while Meg tied Gavin and Lindsay to separate trees, re-binding their hands in front of them. She whisked their blindfolds off, and Michael saw them both flinch at the sudden firelight.

“Now look,” Meg ordered, pointing at them both warningly, “I’m only going to say this once so listen the fuck up. Any attempt to escape in the night and _she’s_ the one who suffers for it. The Warlord didn’t say a damn thing about keeping her in a good condition. Even a toe goes out of line and I’ll cut it right off. Understand?”  
  
Gavin nodded, eyes huge and worried. Lindsay was staring at Meg, stony faced.

“You’re going to cooperate, then?” Meg asked, leaning in close - Gavin’s eyes went even wider and he nodded again, head tilted up to look at her. She laughed and patted him on the cheek. “Good.”  
  
Michael bit his lip, staring into the fire he was building until his eyes hurt from the fierce glow. He’d seen her threaten prisoners a hundred times before. Hell, usually they made a game of it; who could come up with the most ridiculous or depraved ideas. So he wasn’t sure why, now, he felt so uneasy - why he made himself turn away and focus on unpacking food from their supply bags.

“Could eat them cold,” he said, holding up two smoked sausages on a forked stick as Meg came up next to him to rummage in the bag as well.

“Nah, give them a blast,” she replied. And then, in a deep voice, “Gimme that hot sausage.”  
  
“Forgot how much you love it,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

“You love it more than I do,” she shot back, and Michael snorted. He could see Lindsay and Gavin exchanging incredulous looks where they sat by the trees. Meg walked towards them, turning to look at Michael over her shoulder.

“I’m fucking starving. At least you got a proper lunch in today. Put some tea on, will you?” She reached the prisoners and threw a piece of bread to each of them; Gavin fumbled to catch his but it fell in the dirt and he picked it up and scrubbed it on his pants. Meg watched him with a frown.

“Are you gonna freeze to death in that outfit?” she asked. “Taurin wants you unharmed.”  
  
“I’m fine,” he said, peering up at her. And then, inexplicably, “Thank you.”  
  
Meg stared at him a moment longer, then reached for her pack and threw a blanket at him anyway. She tossed a bundle of kindling between the two of them and blasted some fire at it. Michael noticed Lindsay relax a little; she must have been getting cold with her armour gone.

“Your magic seems very strong,” Gavin said after a second - tentatively, his eyes fixed on Meg’s glowing palm. “Is fire the only thing you can make?”  
  
“Don’t piss me off and you won’t have to find out,” Meg replied breezily.

She seemed happier now that they were on their way back south, Michael thought. And was clearly very pleased that they’d bested the two after their humiliating defeat earlier.

Gavin seemed unphased by her cheerfulness. In fact, he sat up a bit, eyes glinting almost curiously. The thought crossed Michael’s mind that maybe it was all an act, maybe he was more dangerous than he seemed and really just wanted them to lower their guard and start trusting him so he could turn on them later. Anyone Taurin was after must be powerful in some way, after all, and it took a certain sort of person to unlock their magic and live to tell about it.

But Gavin certainly sounded earnest as he leaned forward to stare at Meg.

“I’ve never seen anyone transfigure before,” he said. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to turn into something else! But I hear it’s really difficult magic to learn. That’s why most spellcasters focus on elemental stuff, or conjuration, right? You must enjoy a challenge to have that as your focus.”

Meg just raised an eyebrow at him. She didn’t answer, and Gavin faltered, looking a bit embarrassed as he picked at his unappetising hunk of bread - but after a moment she dragged her pack closer and sat on it, staring at the two of them with her chin in her hands. Michael came to sit next to her, passing over one of the sausages.

“What are you carrying that Taurin wants?” Meg asked abruptly.

_She’s still bothered about the magic_. He knew her well enough to tell by now; her eyes kept darting to the cuffs around Gavin’s wrists, the tiny runes on the metal glowing faintly blue.

Gavin just shrugged, but he looked nervous.

“Maybe he swallowed a key like in all the mystery stories,” Michael contributed. “And Taurin’s just waiting for him to shit it out.”  
  
“You and your _stories_ ,” Meg sighed. “Well if you want to dig through all his shit until we get there, you’re welcome to. It’s information, isn’t it? It has to be. Information worth a hell of a lot to him. Is it a spell of some sort? Those are valuable.”

Gavin glanced at Lindsay like he was looking for help - like he had no idea if he was meant to answer or not. Unfortunately she had just crammed half the bread into her mouth and was chewing so furiously that she could only stare back at him.

“The Warlord was adamant you’d be alone,” Meg continued, gaze darting between the two of them before she turned to Michael. “Reckon he’ll pay us extra for bringing her?”  
  
“Dunno,” Michael murmured. His stomach had churned at the question. Gods, could people just - stop talking about the _money_? He was starting to get pretty damn sick of having to hear about it! Money, money, money, that’s all it was ever about.

_(Isn’t it? Or is it the thrill of the fucking job, the_ passion _, is that any better? What is it, Jones - what are you doing this for? Do you even know anymore?)_

Lindsay was staring at him. He realised just a second too late and their eyes met awkwardly. To his horror, she seemed to have seen his discomfort; her face softened in a way he didn’t like. It seemed too close to pity.

“If it’s money you want,” she announced, “We can offer you more than him.”

Meg laughed out loud.

“You’re followers of Sol! Your people don’t have _shit_ , you give it all away! Your temples don’t even have gold in them! Plus we took all your crowns - all the ones you didn’t already lose playing cards, anyway.”

“We’re on an important mission!” Lindsay insisted.

“Lindsay,” Gavin warned quietly, making frantic chopping motions with his bound hands.

“What?” she asked, turning to him. “What’s the use in keeping it secret, Gav? We’re fucked either way!” She turned back to the two of them, watching intently, and took a deep breath. “We’re heading north, all the way to King Ramsey’s territory. He’s expecting us.”  
  
Michael stiffened _,_ lowering the sausage he’d been halfway through guzzling down.

“We are on vital business,” Lindsay continued passionately, “And he’ll pay you twice what the Warlord has promised for our safe passage!”  
  
“Yeah right,” Meg scoffed. “They don’t even worship Sol up there. What would Ramsey care about you?”  
  
“Gavin is very important,” Lindsay said solemnly.

“Why?” Meg demanded. “Who the hell _are_ you two?”  
  
Gavin was hissing and shaking his head furiously now, and Lindsay paused with her mouth open to continue and glanced at him. After a second of staring at each other and doing some sort of silent communication that involved pulling quite horrible faces, she finally turned back to them and shook her head.

“That, I can’t say,” she replied. “It’s confidential information. But you have no idea the extent of his powers. Ramsey will reward you _handsomely_ \- and he’s far more trustworthy than the Warlord.”  
  
“And can he protect us from him?” Meg demanded. “Guy’s the biggest coward I’ve ever heard of! He’s a total pushover. Hell, the only reason he’s survived this long is because his territory is as far away from Taurin’s as it’s possible to be!”  
  
“Ramsey’s no coward,” Lindsay countered. “Just because he doesn’t invade other kingdoms, pillaging and murdering? Because he doesn’t declare war every two seconds?”  
  
“He’s weak,” Meg snapped. “Taurin already paid us and no smart person would cross him!”  
  
“He’s _evil_!” Gavin burst out with. “Don’t you care?”  
  
Lindsay was shaking her head in disgust now.

“They kill for a living, Gav,” she said, and sighed. “Clearly they don’t.”  
  
“But this is bigger than even you realise,” he said, and was staring at Michael now, who watched in silence with a sense of growing unease in his gut. This may have been partially due to the fact that the sausages had been sitting in his pack for about four days now. “You can’t just stay uninvolved. Things are changing. You’re either with the Warlord or against him. You’re really happy to take his side in this?”  
  
“The fuck does that mean?” Michael snapped. “ _Things are changing?”_

“Taurin’s on the attack,” Gavin said desperately, and leaned forward as far as he could with the ropes binding him to the tree. “He’s already invaded the Isle of Sol and massacred the priests.”

“ _What_?” Meg and Michael demanded in unison. They glanced at each other in total confusion. Michael’s head was spinning. The story was the talk of the town and although it meant little to Michael and Meg, a lot of people were pretty fucking torn up about it. 

“That was Taurin?” Meg demanded.

“Yes,” Gavin whispered, and bit his lip, a dark look passing across his face, “I was there.”  
  
_I grew up on an island,_ Michael remembered him saying. What the hell was going on here? 

“Why would Taurin want the priests dead?” he asked. His voice shook a little and Gavin curled up, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“He’s evil,” he replied, distantly. “He’s spent his life pillaging and plundering, expanding his kingdom wherever he can. I can’t… I can’t let him get me. I managed to get off the Isle but now-”  
  
“Gav, calm down,” Lindsay whispered, and Michael realised how Gavin’s chest was heaving suddenly, how his voice was small and trembling.

“We need to stop him. He’s going to hurt a lot of people, even more than he already has. Please,” he begged, and stared at Michael again, the desperation in his eyes haunting. “Please, help us get to Ramsey. Even if you don’t believe, you must _know_ how much people care about Sol. You must understand how terrible life is under Taurin’s reign. Are you going to stand by and let him take over the entire continent?”  
  
Michael froze, unsure what to say. His throat felt like it was closing up and he had so many questions he didn’t know where to begin. Meg, next to him, was composed as always - and gave a great, dismissive snort.

“How is invading the Isle of Sol gonna help him take over the world?” she pointed out. “Sounds like a load of bullshit to me. Taurin’s only interested in power. He’s not a religious man and the temples of Sol aren’t full of riches, the priests wield no authority anywhere except that island. Sounds a hell of a lot like you’re just trying to get us to free you.”  
  
“We can’t tell you everything,” Gavin insisted. “Not right now, but-”  
  
“Then it can’t be that important.” She got up to go and get the tea, which was beginning to bubble vigorously over the fire. Michael sat unmoving, an even worse feeling churning deep in his chest. 

“You’re making a big mistake,” Lindsay warned. Coming from her, tied up and hair askew and blue eyes blazing angrily, it sounded like a kitten trying to threaten a lion, and Meg just laughed.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you guys were in control here. Is Sol about to strike me down?” she struck a mock frightened pose. “Send a big old blast of fire from the sky? Oh, no!”  
  
“No,” Gavin murmured very sadly, “Sol never strikes people down… he’s not that sort of god.”  
  
“It’s all _fake_ anyway,” Meg spat, and poured herself a mug of tea with a great cloud of steam. “Besides, Michael and I don’t belong to any kingdom. Politics means nothing in our line of work. And everyone except children knows that all loyalty has a price.”  
  
“It’s a sad life to never stand for anything,” Gavin said.

“I like it that way.” She straightened up and wrapped her fingers around the mug. With steam rising around her face she, too, looked like a picture from the storybooks - like the witches that would emerge from the fog days after a battle to scavenge from the bodies of the fallen. “I take care of me and my own. Only way to live.”

Gavin and Lindsay glanced at each other with looks of total confusion. Uncomfortable, Michael got up abruptly and stalked off towards the tree line, staring out into the darkness.

He hated Gramarye at the best of times but now something about it seemed even more sinister. The faint hoot of an owl, the rustle of some small creature scurrying out there in the black shadows, all seemed to promise misfortune. He clutched at the hilt of his sword, frowning to himself.

“Hey.” A small hand touched his back and then Meg was by his side, staring up at him in concern. “Everything alright?”

“I still don’t like this,” he muttered.

“Michael…” her hand slipped away; a worried look crossed her face. _Not worried about this,_ Michael thought grimly, _worried I’m gonna bail_. “We’ve gone too far to back out now.”

“Have we?” he demanded, and sighed. “Something just feels - _wrong_. There’s something going on here, something we don’t know about. I don’t like not having all the pieces.”

“We’ve taken bounties without a reason before.”

“Yeah - personal grudges. The Warlord is _huge_ , Meg.”

“Can’t you see that’s the _point_ of all this?” she cried, something too desperate in it. “One more job. Then if you like, you’ll never have to work again. Come on,” she said, and nudged him, “Don’t listen to them. We know fuck all about them; they’re probably lying. They’d do anything to try and escape. For all we know it’s a load of shit about Taurin and the Isle.”

“Sure,” Michael murmured, but in his heart he knew it wasn’t. He could sense it - something about the earnestness in their prisoners’ faces. They weren’t lying - and he could tell, with a deep, cold unease, that they were right about what Taurin had done. The Warlord had swept across the continent and all the surrounding isles killing and conquering, gathering ancient treasures and fighting great beasts. To kill twenty priests and burn down a temple was nothing to him. Less than nothing.

_Gavin must be a priest. No one else lives on that island_.

_But why is one priest so important?_

Meg was still standing next to him, waiting, a pinched look on her face. After a moment Michael forced a weak smile, but he knew she could tell it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ll take first watch,” he said. “You should rest. You took quite a hit before.”

“We both did,” she said, but seemed a little relieved. She rubbed at her eyes. “I am exhausted.”

“Go and lie down.” He led her back to the campfire with a hand on her shoulder and watched as she laid out her blankets. As the fire died a little lower their two prisoners had fallen silent. Gavin leaned back against the tree with his eyes shut; Lindsay watched him, and their captors, with her sharp, cat-like eyes, but said nothing. They must be exhausted too, Michael thought. It was no small feat to escape the Warlord for as long as they had.

Meg had curled up closer to the fire than most people would really consider safe, and despite his unease Michael had to hide his small smile. She got cold easily, he knew, and she had no reason to be afraid of fire. He settled next to her, sword in his lap, and after a moment she shuffled a little closer to him. 

“Need a bedtime story?” he teased, and heard a muffled snort from where her face was buried in her arms.

“Shut up,” she said. But then, a second later, “If you’re offering.”

He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but figure despite her brave words, maybe she was troubled by this too - maybe it wasn’t so easy to put from their minds. In a low voice he began to recite the poem that his nursemaid had always read to him when he was trying to sleep as a little boy - the tale of Mogar the Brave, who had fought the Mad King and freed all the prisoners he kept enslaved in his citadel. He’d spent endless afternoons running around his family’s villa re-enacting that with his cousins and playmates.

It was a slow poem with a nice rhythm and every word was committed to memory, falling from his lips in a soft murmur almost unconsciously. It wasn’t the first time he’d told it to Meg, on nights like this when they were both up late and troubled with too many thoughts, and he saw her face relax slightly as he went on, lulled by the cadence of his voice and distracted by the story.

For a moment, despite everything - he felt peaceful, like he was a child again and blissfully unaware of just how fucked their world was, how fucked his family was, all the trials that were yet to come. For a moment - it was just him, and her, and how happy he was right now. They’d built this together, this companionship - and _this_ , he thought, was what he’d stay for. Not the money, not anything else. This was all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

The forest had fallen still and silent and Michael had slipped into a daze as he sat by the fire, periodically turning to look around at the edges of the clearing. Nothing disturbed them but the occasional chitter of a bat. The temperature had dropped during the night, too cold even for him, and he shivered as he stoked the fire and inched a little closer to it.

A sudden noise made his head snap up, alarm spiking through his chest. It’d sounded like a moan, and for a moment he thought of the undead that sometimes roamed through Gramarye, products of necromancers’ illicit experiments deep in the woods - but there was nothing there, and after a moment his eyes fell on Gavin. He frowned.

For a second, he thought the other man was trying to struggle free of his bonds. Then he realised he was still asleep, just thrashing in the throes of a nightmare. The blanket Meg had given him had mostly fallen off, was twisted around his legs, and he was straining and shaking like he was being tortured.

As Michael watched, frozen, he let out another low moan - then began whimpering, his breath coming in harsh, sobbing pants through his nose.

_Fucking hell._ He rose, half-stepping towards him before hesitating. _What’s wrong with him?_

Despite himself, he felt a pang of sympathy. Even from here he could see Gavin’s face, pale and twisted like he was in pain, and for a second he thought of the night terrors he’d gotten when he first got into this job. When he made his first kill. The worst nightmares weren’t even about the target but about Michael’s own father. He’d woken in his share of cold sweats.

After a moment he tentatively sat back down. Why interfere? But his stomach churned uncomfortably and he couldn’t take his eyes off Gavin.

“He’s dreaming about the Isle.”  
  
Lindsay’s voice made him jump nearly out of his skin; he whipped around to see her sitting up, her gaze fixed on Gavin with a soft concern. Her hands were clenching where they were bound in front of her like she wanted to reach out to him.

“What?” Michael croaked.

“The Isle. He was there.” She turned to look at him; the anger was gone from her voice now, replaced by a tired defeat. “He saw the priests being slaughtered, the temple being burned to the ground. He barely escaped with his life - and Taurin wasn’t happy about that. Some of the things the Warlord did there… the way he killed them…”  
  
Her face twisted like she was about to cry, too, and Michael saw her actively have to compose herself.

“We grew up there,” she whispered, and a haunted look was in her eyes now. “They _raised_ us. I’d known some of those men since I was six years old, Gavin even longer. I… I still can’t believe they’re _gone_. No wonder he has nightmares.”  
  
Michael was silent. He didn’t know what to say. He might kill people for a living, but since he’d heard about it, the massacre on the Isle had made him uneasy; there were mass killings all around the continent now and then but this was by far the most significant. He couldn’t even imagine how much unrest there was in Solaire.

_Will they find out it’s Taurin? Surely, eventually…_

_But he lives closest to the Isle. The Southern Lawkeepers are under his command. No one will ever know he did it. No one knows except Gavin._

_Is that why he wants him dead? In case he spills? That has to be it, he’s worried he’ll run to Ramsey and tell him. Sol has a lot of followers. If they rose up against him…_

“I didn’t realise there were any children on the isle,” he said quietly, and Lindsay looked over at him. 

“No one knows what goes on there. It’s sacred ground; only the priests travel to and from there. It’s a long story, but… like I said. Gavin’s special.”  
  
“He’s a priest,” Michael said, but she shook her head.

“No. An acolyte, perhaps. But he never trained as a priest or a mage or anything else. I went to Solaire to become a paladin once I was older but I was always going to return eventually.” Her face crumpled again, just for a moment. “I suppose I never will now.”  
  
_I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say. It seemed appropriate - but he kicked himself instantly. _What the fuck are you doing? She’s your prisoner, they both are. Who the fuck cares what happened to them?_

_Not like either of them will ever see home again._

“Have you lost anyone?” she asked then, and Michael jolted.

“What?”  
  
“I never had a family until I went to the isle. All I have now is Gavin.” She looked at him again - he’d settled a little now, though he still twitched sporadically - there was a fondness in her eyes that Michael struggled to figure out. _Are they like siblings?_ “A few of the older priests passed away but I… I’ve never lost someone like _this_. Have you?”  
  
“My mother,” he found himself saying, “She died of illness when I was a boy. Other than that, no. I haven’t spoken to my family in a long time and in this business… it’s better not to get too close to people.”  
  
He glanced over his shoulder at Meg. She had rolled over, her back to him now, and was lying very still, save for the even rise and fall of her breath.

“That pendant was given to him by the priests when he was young,” Lindsay said quietly. “He’s worn it since he was just a tiny boy. It was blessed by every priest who ever passed across the Isle - it’s all that was left of home.”

_Fuck me._ Well now he felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit. And then felt stupid for feeling like that, because Gavin was hardly the first mark he’d tracked down who had lost something. They all had a story - no one became a criminal, a thief, a soldier, a killer, without some sort of darkness in their past. 

But he kept thinking of the _sound_ Gavin had made, when he tore the pendant from his neck. The look Lindsay had given him now which reminded him very disconcertingly of the expression on his mother’s face whenever he got into a fight with his father, or broke something valuable around the house, or was rude to one of their servants.

“No point getting attached to sentimental shit like that,” he grunted, but he didn’t believe the words even as he said them, and he had the uncomfortable feeling Lindsay could tell. “Only gives people something to use against you.”

“Maybe,” she replied, “But what sort of life is it where you have nothing you _love_?” And then, after a moment of awkward silence, “I heard the story you were telling before.”

His cheeks felt hot suddenly, he didn’t know why. He’d thought she was asleep, or at least not listening. It shouldn’t have been embarrassing - Mogar the Brave was a fucking classic, okay - but it was something he was too close to, and he felt like he’d been caught with his pants down.

“Yeah? So what?”

“It was nice,” she said, “I hadn’t heard that one before. Gavin and I used to love stories growing up, though. One of the priests had this book of fairy tales and we used to write our own to add to it. Our favourite was about the Bear Man.”

“How could I forget,” he drawled. He settled down, intrigued despite himself - look, in his defence, the Isle of Sol was mysterious as shit; it was miles away from the southern coast and although everyone had _heard_ of it, no one but priests and the occasional select pilgrim had ever been down there. “What’s the Bear Man’s story, then?”

“He lives in the forest of Gramarye and was blessed by Sol to be able to walk upright on two legs like a man.”

“I’m pretty sure normal bears can do that.”

“And he had the intelligence of a human, too!” Lindsay added. “And he had been terribly hurt by humans who tried to hunt him so he was very afraid of men, but as the legend has it, he can tell if you’re pure of heart and believe in Sol’s guiding precepts of kindness and charity. And if you’re lost in the forest and he knows you’re a good person, he’ll lead you back to the path.”

“I see,” he said flatly. “And you thought I was this Bear Man.”

“Look,” she said defensively, “It was very dark and your cloak looks _very_ realistic. We’ve heard that story a thousand times, why would it not be our first assumption?”

“Because it’s just a _story!_ And not one I’ve ever heard before!”

“Bullshit,” she said, so confidently that Michael scowled, “It’s a famous ancient legend. You must just not be very well read.”

Michael bristled so indignantly that for a moment he _did_ feel like a bear.

“Bitch, I know _every_ legend, I grew up reading _constantly_ and that is not one of them. What else was in this book?”

“The story of Mark Nutt, the archer who tried to shoot the sun to kill Sol but went blind from looking at it every day.”

“Nope, not a proper one.”

“The tale of the Dark God and the Solar Queen’s battle for power-“

“Not well known either.”

“The story of the shepherd Princeton who was granted the ability to gather the clouds for Sol each morning and night-”

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, but whatever priest wrote that book came up with that shit off the top of his head. I grew up worshipping Sol too, you know, and I’ve never heard any of those before. My guess is they had no books for little kids so one of them just full made it up on the spot so you had something to stop you bothering them all the time. How the hell’d two children end up on the Isle, anyway?”

Lindsay didn’t look too phased by this life truth being dropped on her head. She just shrugged and tilted her head at him.

“I’m more interested in why _you_ stopped worshipping Sol,” she replied. “How did you go from that to… to _this_ , to what you’re doing now?”

“Oh, you’re confused why I don’t run around preaching light and kindness to everyone? Because news flash, Lindsay, if you haven’t fucking worked it out by now, people _aren’t_ kind and generous and devoted more to others than themselves. People are selfish and cruel and greedy and if you don’t get on their level they’re only gonna fuck you over. Hence why _you’re_ tied up and _I’m_ the one holding the big fucking sword to your throat.”

She didn’t flinch, just stared at him sort of sadly.

“What happened to make you believe that?” she asked.

“Michael,” a voice snapped before he could react to _that_ invasive personal question. “What are you doing?”

He turned to see Meg sitting up in her blankets, and for a second felt very nervous. He’d assumed she was fast asleep - how much had she heard?

“Talking,” he said a bit uselessly, and she scowled. Even with her hair dishevelled and her face puffy from sleep, that look could kill a man in two seconds.

“Well, stop talking to the fucking prisoner,” she said sharply. “You’re doing no good to anyone.”

“Never do,” Michael muttered, but turned away guiltily. Lindsay stared at Meg for a moment before lying down again and rolling over so her back was to them. The silence grated on Michael’s nerves; he turned and walked back over to sit with Meg.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, leaning in close. “You’ve been acting strangely this whole job. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he whispered back. “It’s just - not a normal job.”

“You can’t get close to them. You can’t start listening to their shit.” She jabbed a finger at his chest, stared at him earnestly. “You’ll go soft.”

“I’m not soft,” he snapped, and she stared at him. Her eyes were beautiful, he noticed, especially in the firelight, sparkling with hazel, blue, green flecks. He’d never been able to pinpoint exactly what colour they were. “I’m _not_.”

“You were listening to them.”

“I wasn’t going to set them free or anything stupid like that.”

She didn’t look convinced, but after a moment her anger shifted into exhaustion. She shifted closer to him, laid a hand on his arm.

“This is a _big job_ ,” she repeated, and bit her lip, something vulnerable crossing her face. “You _know_ how much that means to me.”

“I know,” he replied, and sighed. “I won’t fuck this up, Meg. I promise.”

“Good.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back, briefly. She patted his arm and started to get up. “I’ll take over the watch. You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Michael did not feel better tomorrow.

Sleeping hadn’t cleared anything up at all; he woke to a cloudy grey, bitterly cold dawn with no new certainty about their situation. He wasn’t even refreshed - he’d been unable to fall into a deep sleep, plagued by dreams he could only half remember now. He’d been chased by hunters in a dark city and couldn’t find his way out, and he thought it might have ended very badly, but he couldn’t recall.

So he felt quite grumpy and irritable as he cooked himself some breakfast over the fire. Meg seemed tired as well, although once she’d tied her hair back and washed up she looked as put-together as ever. When Gavin and Lindsay woke and started trying to whisper to each other, she sharply put an end to it with a wall of fire between them. She wandered back over to Michael and poked his shoulder to get his attention.  
  
“If we travel fast we should hit the city today,” she said. 

“Should we go around?”

“It’s faster to go through, plus we need more supplies. Taurin said to keep this discreet,” she added. “We don’t know what allies they might have, don’t know _anything_ \- so we should keep this as quiet as possible.”  
  
“No problem. We dress them to avoid attention. Nothing we haven’t done before.”  
  
She nodded, and there were a few moments’ silence during which Michael accidentally set fire to a piece of bread he was grilling and had to frantically blow it out.

“... you okay?” Meg asked finally, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, perhaps a little _too_ defensively. And then aggressively tore a huge chunk of bread off with his teeth and chewed it so violently he nearly choked.

“Alright, big guy, no need to prove how tough you are.” She raised an eyebrow, folded her arms. “You look tired, that’s all.”  
  
“I didn’t sleep well,” he grunted. And then, when she kept staring at him, “Weird dreams.”  
  
“Right,” Meg replied, face softening a little. She turned away to get her own breakfast and Michael stepped away from the fire.

Lindsay kept _looking_ at him, he noticed as he arranged their bags of supplies. It was making him unsettled. Their conversation from the night before felt almost like a dream - like he couldn’t tell if it had actually happened or not. But there was something too knowing about her face, now, like they had a shared secret - something that made him not even angry but uncomfortable, struggling to meet her gaze.

He marched over with an apple and threw it into Gavin’s lap. He jolted - he’d been staring into space - and looked up at him before giving a tentative smile.

“Good morning, Michael!”  
  
“Not for you it ain’t,” Michael grunted. Gavin didn’t seem phased, fumbling to pick up the apple with his bound hands. He looked like he hadn’t slept well either, huge dark wells under his eyes. Michael glanced up at the grey sky, heavy with dark clouds on the horizon, and let out a scoff. “Sun’s not out, that mean bad luck or something?”  
  
“Sol is lost without the Flame,” Gavin said vaguely, without even looking up.

“What, did Taurin blow it out or something?” Michael snorted.

Gavin got a funny look on his face, and didn’t answer. Instead he bit into his apple and started crunching it very loudly. Michael watched him for a while, unimpressed, but it seemed Gavin was no more eager to offer answers about who the fuck he was today than he was yesterday. He sighed.

“Hey idiot,” he said, and when Gavin looked up he proceeded to brandish his used sock in his face. “Get a whiff of this.”  
  
“That’s yuck Michael,” Gavin informed him, screwing his face up.

“Like it?”  
  
“It’s… ripe.”  
  
“Probably doesn’t taste very good,” Michael informed him. “So my advice is when we go into the city today, you cooperate fully so I don’t have to gag you with it. I’m serious, no running your idiot mouth like you have been. You don’t talk to anyone - no shopkeepers, no lawkeepers, no priests, not even a beggar on the street. I don’t care if they talk to you first, you keep your damn mouth shut. Got it?”  
  
“Yep,” Gavin said, and promptly started gagging. “Gods, that’s rank!”  
  
Michael thumped him on the back.

“Don’t die on me, Taurin wants you alive,” he snapped.

“Of course he does,” Gavin replied, miserably.

“I don’t know why, it’s not like you can spill on what he did on the Isle if you’re dead.”  
  
“That’s not why he wants me,” Gavin said, giving him a quizzical look. Then looked annoyed at himself, like he thought he shouldn’t have said that. Michael, on his part, was just confused.

_Well there goes that theory. But if that’s not why he wants Gavin, then why?  
  
__Surely his… his trip to the Isle of Sol couldn’t have been to look for_ him _, could it? It’s gotta be something he knows, something the priests have been keeping hidden down there._

He heard voices and looked over to see Meg getting Lindsay up, looking annoyed at the other woman’s complaining. He sighed and reached out, dragging Gavin to his feet and undoing the knot that bound him to the tree.

“Come on then,” he said, pulling him towards their bags. “You got two minutes to finish that apple then we’re getting dressed.”  
  
“But I am dressed!”  
  
“We don’t want to draw attention to you in the city, so you’re putting something else on.” He grabbed the usual bundle of black clothes from his bag - a simple, ragged tunic and cloak, a little bloodstained and crusty with mud from the last person who’d worn them. Gavin stared at them, horrified.

“You’re dressing me as a slave?” he demanded. “That’s illegal in most kingdoms!”  
  
“Not in the Warlord’s territory,” Michael said grimly. “Come on.”  
  
Gavin hesitated - but when Michael tapped his foot warningly, he caved.

“Okay, okay,” he said, and crammed the rest of his food into his mouth. He stepped forward and Michael unlocked the chain but kept the cuffs themselves around his wrists. Gavin stretched his arms out with a groan; Michael let him, for now, since he didn’t attempt to run. Just started taking his clothes off.

“You’re really not cold?” Michael demanded after a moment.

“No Michael, I’m just fine,” Gavin replied, as he shimmied his arms out of his sleeves. “I bet you’re toasty warm in your cloak! I wouldn’t want to wear a skinned animal but I reckon a cloak covered in feathers like a giant bird would be top.” He yanked his shirt up over his head, his voice muffled from inside it. “You look tired, by the way! You know, if you’re having a problem sleeping I find drinking some tea usually does the trick!”

“This is the sort of thing I was talking about,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “It’s way too fucking early for me to deal with your weird shit. Hurry up.”

Gavin threw his tunic aside and turned to him, and Michael froze.

Standing there in just his britches, Gavin looked different somehow. Smaller. He was lean in the same way all the priests of Sol looked, living on a diet involving very little fat or red meat, and very tan, his skin dark against the white snow. But it was the middle of his chest that drew Michael’s attention - where a huge, angry red scar flared right over his heart.

His breath caught in shock. The wound was immense, the scar stretching in thin tendrils across his chest. It looked raw and painful to touch, almost like a burn in some places. And recent - very recent, like it had only barely healed.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Huh?” Gavin said, and looked down. His cheeks flared self-consciously. “Oh… it’s not very pretty, is it? I had a very hairy chest once upon a time! Very, very manly. I think it’s because I ate all my vegetables growing up. I mean, it was the main component of my diet so I didn’t have much _choice_ , but-”  
  
“What the fuck did that?” Michael demanded. “Did you get that on the Isle? How are you not _dead_ ,” his voice rose shrilly, “What the _fuck_ is that?”  
  
Honestly, it looked like someone had fucking reached inside his chest to rip out his heart or something. Gavin looked quite taken aback, and spluttered uselessly.

“Was it magic?” Michael asked. “I know Taurin’s is unlocked.”

“Yes, it was magic,” Gavin replied, and bit his lip. “But I’m fine! It’s all healed.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” Michael repeated. He couldn’t help it, he hadn’t seen a wound like that before. Even Meg’s fireballs didn’t injure people like _that_. He couldn’t figure it out - and it seemed so out of place on Gavin, the rest of his skin smooth and unmarked. Despite himself, he stepped forward to get a look, reaching up like he was going to touch it.

Gavin’s breath caught a little. When Michael’s hand rested on his chest, just above the edge of the wound, he shivered a little. Michael abruptly dropped his hand and stepped back - it felt weird to touch him so intimately. It was one thing to shove him around, but this felt… different.

Gavin didn’t seem to mind. He just stood there, staring at Michael with wide eyes.

_What will Taurin do to him?_ he thought, and tried to tamp down the curl of discomfort in his stomach. _The things you’ve heard, the stories… they’re nightmarish. He’s going to hurt him, you know he is. The rest of him might be unscarred - not like you - but not for long._

His eyes flicked to Gavin’s throat, bare now - remembered the gold pendant, remembered what he did. Thought with a pang of guilt that he didn’t deserve the way Gavin was looking at him now - pleasantly, almost innocently, like a placid cow. How was he not panicking now? Begging or pleading - how was he just standing there as docile as a lamb before the slaughter?

Raised voices made him jolt; he turned to see Lindsay kicking up a fuss where Meg was trying to get her dressed. But Gavin just stepped into the black tunic and cloak that Michael handed him without complaint. He was glad when the scar disappeared under the rough, dark fabric. He didn’t like to look at it.

“Keep an eye on that,” he grumbled, grudgingly. “Don’t want it to get infected.”

“Yes, Michael!” he replied pleasantly. The way his voice wrapped around his name made him feel odd. He tried to shake it off, but couldn’t, even as he chained Gavin’s hands together again and roughly tugged his hood up so his face was cast in shadow.

All he could notice was the _warmth_ \- radiating from him like a fucking furnace, radiating into _Michael_ , thawing his cold skin just like the fire had.


	4. Chapter 4

Meg scowled as they joined the crowds entering through the back gates of the city. It was the peak hour for travellers and the roads were packed, people jostling her left and right. It was making an already tiresome day just that much worse.

Michael’s hand descended on her shoulder, steadying her, and she looked up to see him giving her a small smile. He began to shove his way through the crowd, clearing a path to usher their two prisoners through, people parting in front of him like a charging bull.

“Fuck me, it’s too busy,” he hissed, as they finally managed to break free of the traffic jam around the gates. “Keep them close.”  
  
Meg nodded. She didn’t like this - it would be too easy for one or the other of them to slip away or run off into the crowds. On the plus side, given the way they were dressed, the town guards were likely to stop them if they did.

They elbowed their way down the road before pausing to let several heavy carts trundle past. Meg saw Michael’s attention turn towards a set of roadside stalls where an enthusiastic shopkeeper was hollering at passersby, trying to sell those stupid sun pendants. An unmistakable flash of guilt passed across his face, so quickly that if she hadn’t been watching she would have missed it. Her stomach sank at the sight.

She hated this, whatever it was - whatever _shit_ had somehow gotten into Michael’s head. Firstly, it was making _her_ feel bad, like he was looking at her some type of way, like they weren’t on the same team. Secondly, he was being an absolute idiot, and it was fucking infuriating. 

What was it about these two? They’d had marks try to charm their way out of being taken back before, and Michael had never fallen for it once. She’d lost count of the number of people who seemed to think _seducing_ their captor might give them a chance to escape. Usually the two of them took glee in shooting them down. She glanced over at Lindsay - huddled in her black, dirty robes, she looked smaller somehow. How could _she_ win Michael over? Then there was Gavin, who was indescribably _weird_ \- both of them were nothing but annoying, religious-obsessed freaks.

She slapped Michael’s arm and he snapped out of it, turning to her.

“Let’s get the supplies and get out of here,” she grunted, and he nodded a bit too quickly. The carts passed, and they set off again, Meg hurrying for the other end of the city.

Gavin inched closer to her side as they walked. She stiffened immediately, expecting an attack - but he just sort of shuffled nearer to her, staring around at the passersby.

“Is there a problem?” she snapped, grabbing his arm to keep him at bay.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m just not used to crowds.” Even away from the main gates there were still a lot of people milling around them, queuing up for the roadside stalls, moving in and out of the shops. He looked around nervously. “It’s a lot of strangers.”

_He said he grew up on the Isle_ , she recalled - for a second, she could almost sympathise with how overwhelming the city must be, to the point where she, his captor, could even remotely seem like a more appealing option. 

As a younger, shyer girl she’d used to get bad anxiety around strangers, and for a second the vulnerable look on Gavin’s face reminded her too much of herself.

_What the fuck are you thinking?_

She shook herself and grabbed his arm.

“Better you stay close anyway,” she grunted, and didn’t look to see his reaction before tugging him along after the others.

They continued on down the main road, herding their prisoners down the side of the street while troops of guards, bands of merchants and pedestrians trundled past them. No one gave them a second glance; the sight of bounty hunters and escaped slaves was a common one in these parts, and most people living in a city this nice under Taurin’s reign didn’t exactly care. Before long they’d emerged into the traders’ district, close to the front gates, and their usual supply shop loomed ahead. They paused in the courtyard outside by a water fountain, and Meg let go of Gavin when he moved to drink. She chuckled at the sight of him trying to balance himself with his hands bound, managing to sputter water all over his own face.

“Your fucking nose is too big, it’s getting in the way,” Michael pointed out. “Fucking gods, mate.”

“Michael,” Meg said - he looked back over at her and she wasn’t impressed by the almost fond amusement in his eyes. “I’ll watch them. Get in there and get our stuff.”

“You don’t want to go in?” he asked, and she frowned.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Are you sure? The guy likes you more, he gives you better discounts than me.”

“Just go,” she snapped. His eyes widened at her harsh tone, and she felt a little bad - but she gritted her teeth and didn’t let it show on her face. She didn’t like the way he was arguing - and especially didn’t like the thought of him standing on his own out here for fifteen minutes chatting about gods knew what with the prisoners. Better to keep them as separate as possible. Michael stared at her for a few more minutes, looking almost hurt - but when she didn’t budge, he let out a heavy sigh and turned on his heel.

“Suit yourself,” he said flatly, and walked inside.

Meg perched on the edge of the fountain. Gavin had sat down on the ground and she didn’t move to stop him. Best to keep him in good condition, after all, and if he was sitting then at least he wasn’t running. Lindsay, on the other hand, hovered nearby, tugging at the cuffs around her wrists and looking around like she was trying to make some sort of plan. Meg kept an eye on her, but she was feeling pretty confident that tied up and weaponless, the Paladin wasn’t going to be too much of a threat.

“If you’re thinking of going that way, I wouldn’t,” she commented, when she saw Lindsay’s eyes drifting towards a narrow side street. “Leads right to the barracks. The guards would stop an escaped slave in an instant.”

“You’re sick,” Lindsay shot back, “You know that? This whole situation...”

“I’m sitting pretty on fifty thousand gold pieces,” Meg replied, picking at her nails, “I can do without Sol’s approval. Winter’s my favourite season, anyway.”

“But it’s been cold this year,” Gavin piped up suddenly, “Colder than usual, hasn’t it?”

Meg looked up sharply. There was an odd note in his voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “What, you think it’s some sort of omen? You’re going to tell me the fate of the weather is at stake here, next?”

Lindsay and Gavin glanced at one another, and again she got an odd sense of secrecy - that she was missing part of the picture here. She straightened up with a frown, but before she could continue, a voice suddenly shouted from across the square.

“Turney! Fuck, I thought that was you!”

She whirled around, hand on her knife and instantly on the alert. A trickle of unease ran down her spine as she saw a cluster of young men and women marching towards her. Bounty hunters, a gang of them - working under one of the local syndicates. They were bundled in fur and leather armour like they’d recently been hunting in the mountains, and were armed to the teeth.

For a moment they reminded her of a pack of wolves, closing in for the kill as they flocked towards her and surrounded her. Meg stood, lifting her chin as she glared up at the young man leading the pack - arms folded, hip cocked. She was no stranger to having to keep her cool when everyone around was about six inches taller than her. She dimly recognised the man - they ran in similar circles, after all - but couldn’t remember his name.

“What do you want?” she snapped. “We’re in a rush.”

“These your marks?” He stared interestedly at Gavin and Lindsay, and Meg pushed in front of Gavin a little. “What’s the job?”

“None of your concern, except that it’s for somebody very important.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, and she relished it. _Don’t you see, Michael - don’t you see how this is going to_ create _us?_ It was everything she’d longed for - the way he took a step back, the contemptuous look on his face fading a little.

“You went north pretty quickly. I’m surprised you’re headed back down here so soon. The frying pan’s still hot, after all.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“A lot of people aren’t very happy with you down south. Those bandit tribes you took out, they were big news in Taurin’s territory. They worked with a lot of important people. They weren’t just some wild assholes roaming the woods, they were more organised than that.” He tilted his head. “Where’s Michael?”

“Around,” she said sharply. There was something about the dangerous note in his voice that made her hair stand on end. “What’s your point?”

“There’s a bounty on your head. A big one.” He folded his arms and she pulled her knife instantly; he raised his hands. “Hey, hey, not saying we’re _after_ it! You should be thanking me for warning you about this. If you return south you’re in trouble. So watch your back.”

“I can take care of myself,” she spat, and he tilted his head.

“I don’t doubt it, sorceress.”

Her eyes narrowed. Was it a hint of a sneer on his face, a faint mockery in his voice? He was smiling pleasantly enough, but she could see the way his whole gang was looking at her. Like they were in on some private joke. Perhaps just because she was outnumbered, perhaps because Michael wasn’t around - but it made her bristle, made a humiliation she despised lurch up in her gut. Something from long ago, something she thought she’d buried away. Something she didn’t want to admit affected her now, even if it did - even if she felt too self-conscious standing there with her knife in her hand, wondering if they were even afraid of her at all.

_They should be,_ she thought, venomously. _They’ll see_.

But they just turned and left, whispering among themselves, glancing back over their shoulders at her as she slowly sheathed the knife again. She turned away, shoulders hunched and trembling with anger. The sight of Lindsay and Gavin exchanging glances with each other only riled her up further.

“That didn’t sound good,” Lindsay commented, only to yelp when Meg rounded on her and got up in her face.

“Not a fucking word from you or I’ll silence you permanently,” she spat. “You are not as _afraid_ as you should be.”

Lindsay stared at her with wide eyes, and she saw Gavin reach out and rest a hand on her ankle from where he was still huddled on the floor. Lindsay looked down at him and softened; she backed off, nodding quietly, and Meg turned away. The sight had sent a pang through her that she didn’t like; the two were obviously close, and while she still couldn’t quite puzzle out their relationship, she felt something a little too close to longing. Not sure if she wanted a brother, a friend, a lover - aside from Michael she had never been overly close to _anybody_ , and even with him, it was... weird. Both of them always a little worried about crossing some unspoken line. For the most part they got on tremendously. It was only lately that she’d started to feel a bit strange around him - a bit too aware of herself and the way he looked at her. She couldn’t put into words what the problem was, but they’d been very comfortable before, and now there was a funny tension. Michael hadn’t said anything, hadn’t drawn any attention to it, and Meg couldn’t tell if it was all in her _own_ head - but it was making things strange and this job wasn’t helping.

As it was, he emerged from the store a few moments later, laden with bags. He looked between the three of them and stiffened instantly.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

Gods, she could kiss him for being able to tell instantly. She stepped closer, speaking in a whisper.

“Some of the mountain hunters came up to us. Said something about a bounty on our heads. We’re in hot water for killing those bandits before.”

“Oh. Nothing to worry about,” he said, “If any of those groups come after us we can more than handle them.”

“Sure, on our own. But we have to keep these idiots unharmed, too. We shouldn’t take the main road, even if it’s faster. I think we should cut through Gramarye again.”

She didn’t miss his grimace - but he stared into her eyes and after a moment he nodded.

“You’re right. It’s the safest option, even if I don’t like it.” He looked over at the others - Gavin, Lindsay, both looking away and funnily silent - and for a second seemed about to say something else, but thought better of it. Instead he turned to Meg and reached out, awkwardly touching her elbow just for a second. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, a bit too tightly. “Let’s just get the hell out of this city. There’s too many people around.”

Michael nodded. He passed her the supply bags and rounded up the others, marching them back onto the road. Meg followed, but couldn’t keep from looking around. The day seemed a little darker, some ominous energy hanging over them. She couldn’t help but feel like trouble was following.

 

* * *

 

The bad feeling lingered, and Meg was starting to feel almost panicked.

Just little things - like a horse and cart nearly running into them on their way out the gate, and realising the shopkeeper had overcharged them once they were already out of the city. When they reached the woods, she realised the trail they’d been hoping to take was rendered impassable by the bad weather of the last few weeks, and they had to take a different route, one she didn’t favour - it was both longer and more dangerous, passing through some of the darkest, thickest parts of Gramarye.

Everything was going _wrong_ , and she had the sense that the sky was closing in around them, a pressure in the air like right before a storm. If she was as superstitious as Michael, she might’ve thought it was a bad omen, and she could see the look on his face getting more and more concerned.

“Stop it,” she hissed, falling back by his side as they trudged sullenly along. It had begun snowing again, but the thick trees kept the worst of it off the road. Small blessings, at least.

“Stop what?” he replied indignantly.

“Giving that _look_.”

“What look?” he demanded, and waved his hands incoherently around his head. “This is my _face_!”

“I can tell what you’re thinking. You look like a kicked dog. You’re worried that because you threw away that boy’s stupid pendant, Sol’s pissed off and the gods are against us now.”

“I am absolutely not,” Michael replied, so guiltily that she had to bite back a snort.

“You _are_ , and it’s ridiculous. There’s no omen, there’s nothing working against us. It’s just a run of bad luck. After how well things were going, we were bound to be set back eventually. There’s nothing to worry about,” she added, and wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Michael or herself. “We were ahead of schedule, anyway.”

Michael didn’t answer, and Meg looked away. They continued on into the cold damp of the woods, and she hung back to keep the rear of the party, glancing around for any sign of something out of the ordinary.

They’d been travelling for a few hours when Gavin started to fall behind. Both their prisoners had been silent, but he began to drag his feet until Meg moved up and seized his arm, marching him along.

“Come on,” she said, briskly, straining as he stumbled against her side. “As if you’re already tired. You can’t possibly be that unfit. We’re not going _that_ fast.”

He let out an indistinguishable mutter and his hand clawed weakly at her cloak. They all came to a stop and she saw Lindsay whip around.

“Gavin?” The note of concern in her voice made all of them freeze. “Is it happening again?”

She started towards him and Michael let her go, both of them watching as she rushed to his side. It was hard with her hands bound, but she pushed his hood back and clasped at his face. Meg felt a shock of worry - Gavin’s face was pale, his eyes screwed shut like he was in pain, and he slumped against Lindsay’s side as she lowered him to the ground, nearly overbalancing with both their hands tied like that.

“Gavin? _Gavin_!”

She shook him and he squinted up at her, giving a small nod and whimpering, clearly in pain. Meg and Michael exchanged an alarmed glance before crouching down to get a closer look. Michael reached out and brushed a hand against Gavin’s forehead.

“He’s hot but not feverish,” he said. “What the fuck’s going on, Lindsay, is he sick?”

“He could be faking,” Meg snapped - they both shot her a filthy look, but she refused to budge. “What? It’s possible!”

“He’s not faking,” Lindsay said, tightly. “He... he’s been getting these since we left the Isle.”

“Getting _what_?” Michael asked.

“Headaches. Really bad ones. He’s...” she trailed off, uncertainly, but Gavin gave another muted noise of pain and a flash of panic crossed her own face. “He’s got a lot of magic inside him and I guess he’s not used to it.”

“Magic? You mean mana?” Michael asked. “Are the cuffs doing something to hurt him?”

“We’re not removing the cuffs,” Meg snapped. “Using too much mana makes you tired, but it never hurts. And those cuffs shouldn’t cause any pain. Trust me,” she added, when Michael shot her a dubious look. She couldn’t lie, that hurt her feelings a little. She’d never known him to doubt her before. It only made her more sour about the entire fucking situation. “I studied this shit for years.”

“It’s not mana,” Lindsay repeated, “He’s carrying magic _inside him_.”

“I don’t understand,” Michael said, and Lindsay cast Meg a helpless glance.

Honestly, Meg was pretty damn confused too, but she nudged Lindsay aside and settled Gavin back against the nearest tree. His face was screwed up in pain and he let out a little, helpless sort of moan when she moved him, curling into himself. If he was faking, it was a damn good performance.

“Let me see what we’re dealing with here,” she murmured, pushing up her sleeves and crouching in front of him. Once you had your magic unlocked, it was fairly simple to learn how to sense if other people had theirs unlocked too, and how much mana they were capable of drawing on - not to mention sensing enchantments in objects or locations. She rested her fingers lightly on either side of Gavin’s temples, and reached out with her mind.

_Light._

Instantly she felt like every sense had been overwhelmed by blinding white - light and _heat_ flooded her, like she’d burst into flames. Gods, but Gavin’s magic blazed brighter than anything she’d ever felt before - greater than the ancient halls of the Mages’ College where each stone in the brickwork was inscribed with thousands of runes and there was a tremendous heaviness to the place, a sense of centuries upon centuries of magic taking place in the one location. Greater than the most powerful enchanted artifact she’d ever encountered; an old spell book in the college’s archives. Greater than what she’d sensed in even her oldest, wisest teachers.

This was sheer, raw _power_. Lindsay was right, it wasn’t mana - it didn’t feel bound to Gavin, or restrained by human strength. It felt like something else, something foreign and dangerous.

And it was right there inside his body. No wonder he was in pain; it would be like having electricity shoved along every nerve end. She pulled back with a little gasp and the first thing she saw were Gavin’s huge green eyes staring up at her, a curious look in them - _so you’ve seen, too? You know?_

“Meg?” Michael’s voice rang out behind her, distant and worried. “Meg, are you...”

She couldn’t look away. For a second, Gavin looked like nothing and no one she’d ever seen before. Something inhuman about his eyes, about the structure of his face, like she was gazing through a mirror into another realm. It made her feel a little dizzy, a little off-balance.

Then his eyes slipped shut and he slumped back again, and it was as though the spell was broken. She scrambled to her feet and staggered back, rattled.

“Meg?”

Michael grabbed her arm, steadying her. For a moment she couldn’t help but cling to him, reassured by his steady strength, his warm body against hers. She swallowed a few times, blinking heavily. It felt like the inside of her mind had been scorched.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, and clutched at his arm involuntarily, glancing at Gavin with huge eyes. Her voice was shaking. “I... I don’t know what the fuck that was, but it was powerful. Has someone put a spell on him?”

“Not exactly,” Lindsay whispered. She was crouched by Gavin’s side, helplessly patting his hair. “Gavin? Fuck... it’s not usually this bad.”

“You’d better tell us what the fuck’s going on,” Michael said - and then, a little more gently, “We don’t want him hurt. We’re under strict instructions to get him back in a good condition. We can’t help him if we don’t know what’s happening.”

Lindsay glanced at them helplessly, then back down at Gavin. His breathing was laboured, his face pale. Meg had no idea how the fuck he wasn’t dead, to be quite honest. She’d heard a lot of horrible stories about sorcerers who tried to absorb the magic from ancient artifacts and they all met grisly fates - like, she was talking heads exploding, instant disintegration, shit like that. No human should be able to hold that amount of magic and live.

“Whatever’s inside him, it’s got to be what Taurin’s after,” she whispered to Michael, tugging at his sleeve. “I just have no idea what the hell is that powerful - or how the hell he got it in him without dying!”

“I know fuck all about magic,” was all Michael said, and turned back to Lindsay. “Come on, he’s your friend. You can’t enjoy seeing him in pain. Meg studied for years at the Mage’s College. She knows more about magic than anyone else I know. If anyone can think of a way to help him, it’s her.”

Lindsay bit her lip.

“They usually pass on their own after a few hours,” she said softly. “The last couple of times they happened I just got him to lie down and try and sleep for a bit.”

“But you said this time seems worse,” Michael prompted, and Lindsay looked away. Her fists clenched, her whole body trembled.

“We’re not supposed to tell anybody,” she forced out, finally.

“Says who?” Meg demanded. To be quite honest, she was as intrigued as Michael at this point - magic that powerful was fucking unheard of and this job was looking bigger than ever. She wasn’t even thinking about the money, she just wanted to understand exactly what they were involved in, here.

“The priests.” Lindsay looked down, hands fluttering over Gavin’s body, smoothing his hair and straightening his clothes. “We’re not... meant to tell anyone. It’s dangerous.”

“You’re already in pretty deep shit,” Michael said, and crouched down. Lindsay looked up at him and as Meg watched, their eyes met and something passed between them. For a second, all Lindsay’s defiance dropped away and she didn’t look like a feisty, self-righteous paladin. Just a scared, lonely girl. Whatever she saw in Michael’s face, it made her turn away, her shoulders slumping a little.

“Okay,” she whispered, “Okay. Not like I have much choice. I told you, we’re on an important quest to King Ramsey. What Gavin’s carrying can’t fall into the hands of someone like Taurin. It’s too powerful for that. Taurin came to the Isle to search for it, but Gavin managed to get it out of there in time. He’s the only one who can carry it. The priests have expected someone would come searching for it for a long time.”

“What _is_ it?” Meg demanded, stepping closer.

Lindsay looked up and met her eyes.

“The Flame of Sol,” she said slowly, and Meg stared.

“What, that stupid candle? It’s literally just a random bit of fire,” she replied, but Lindsay shook her head furiously.

“It’s not! You non-believers think that, but it’s a powerful piece of magic, a gift from Sol himself. You think a regular flame would have stayed burning for thousands and thousands of years? You think Taurin would invade the Isle and slaughter the priests for something he could just as easily make by striking two stones together? The Flame is _real_ magic, _godly_ magic. It keeps the Isle warm all year long. It keeps the seasons moving the way they should, it’s Sol’s link to mankind. It’s more powerful than anyone could ever imagine.”

“And it’s inside Gavin,” Michael said flatly.

“Yes.”

“What, did he eat it?” Michael asked, and Lindsay shook her head. Meg noticed there were tears at the corners of her eyes.

“You’re not taking this seriously!” she cried.

“Trust me,” Meg said, “The magic I felt was pretty fucking serious. Whatever the Flame is,” she added, turning to Michael, “It’s definitely powerful. It must be the reason Gavin managed to blast us before.”

“The scar on his chest,” Michael realised, “Is that from the Flame?”

Lindsay nodded, tearfully. She looked wrecked, like the helplessness of her whole situation was only now striking her, and she clutched Gavin tighter, as best she could.

“There was a ritual… I think, I wasn’t there at the time. Gavin says the priests knew exactly what they were doing.”  
  
Meg frowned. As far as she knew, the priests were just that; _priests_. They prayed, they didn’t cast spells. They enchanted their Paladins’ weapons sometimes, but that was the extent of their magic. Most didn’t have their magic unlocked unless they’d done it before they entered the priesthood.

Then again, who knew what the fuck went on down on the Isle.

She stared into Lindsay’s face for a long moment. It was clear that whether it was true or not, _she_ certainly believed it. And whatever was in Gavin was definitely very, very powerful.

“So Taurin wants the Flame,” she said, slowly.

“Yes,” Lindsay cried. “I… I don’t know _exactly_ what it does, but the priests were real, real fucking worried about it. They said in his hands it could give him untold power - enough to conquer every kingdom in the land. We need to get it to Ramsey. He’ll know what to do.”

Meg frowned, thoughtfully. In her studies she’d learned a lot about the ancient artifacts that were scattered across their lands - about mystical statues, and Fey relics, and enchanted crowns from kings long dead. But none of her lessons had ever touched upon the Flame of Sol. To most mages it was nothing but sheer superstition. It was hard to believe in the gods when you knew that most of the ‘miracles’ in their world could be explained away by sorcery.

She wanted to ask more, but staring into Lindsay’s desperate, bewildered face, she got the impression that the Paladin wouldn’t have the answers. She could barely articulate _why_ the Flame was so important; she certainly wouldn’t be able to explain what it was or how it worked.

So she held her tongue, and stepped forward to crouch in front of Gavin instead. He flinched a little just at the sound of her approach, another pained whimper escaping him.

“Shhh,” she murmured, gently despite herself,  and pressed her fingers to his temples again. His mind was so blank with blinding pain that there was no resistance when she reached out with her magic - making it a far easier spell than usual. A moment later he slumped, unconscious, his face smoothing out immediately - Meg couldn’t help her small smile. At her _success_ , she told herself - not because of the way the pain had drained immediately from his face, leaving it as slack and innocent as it had been before.

A second later, Lindsay let out a desperate yell.

“What are you doing to him?” she shouted, and made towards Meg - Michael caught her, holding her back.

“Relax,” Meg drawled. “He’s fine. Better even.”

“He’s out cold!”

“Exactly. He’s not in pain, at least for now.” Meg turned to find both of them staring at her almost suspiciously. Again, she swallowed a pang of hurt.

_What the fuck’s gotten into Michael? He usually trusts your every move_.

“There’s no other way. I can’t draw the magic out of him and I can’t dampen the pain because that would only add _more_ magic into his body. What I can do is hit the off switch and hopefully by the time he wakes up, the flare-up’s over.” She sounded too defensive, and forced her voice to go icy and cold again. “So calm the fuck down. I have no desire to hurt him. He’s our moneymaker, isn’t he?”

Michael shifted uncomfortably, and Meg felt a bright flare of annoyance.

“Come on,” she snapped. “Carry him. We’ve lingered long enough.”

Michael frowned. He grabbed her arm and drew her a little distance away as Lindsay clutched at Gavin, checking to make sure he really was fine.

“This is a lot to take in. Do we really want to get going so quickly?”

“Don’t be a fool,” Meg hissed. “Aside from the fact that this changes _nothing_ except that we actually know what he’s carrying that Taurin wants - I think someone’s following us. I’ve had a weird feeling since the city and this bounty on our heads is bad news.”

Michael frowned, but he didn’t argue. He walked back over to pick up Gavin, and Lindsay rose on her knees and desperately caught at his sleeve.

“Please, Michael - help us. For the sake of your world, let Ramsey deal with this. You _have_ to know how bad Taurin is, you... no matter what you do, you _can’t_ want him in charge.”

Michael bit his lip. After a moment he shook his head, and she fell back helplessly. For a second Meg thought she was going to spring up and try to attack them again, but she must have realised that with Gavin unconscious she had little chance of getting anywhere. Michael stared at her for a moment, then turned and lifted Gavin onto his back, looping the other man’s bound hands over his neck and hoisting him up under the knees. He carried him easily, Gavin nestled against the bearskin cloak, out like a light. Lindsay stumbled upright and followed close by his side.

Meg took up the rear. Her mind was racing.

_This changes nothing_ , she wanted to tell herself - but if there was one thing she’d learned in the Mages’ College, it was that magical artifacts could have untold power... power that could change the fate of their world.

She didn’t want to get involved - but she was also starting to feel like they were more out of their depth than she’d first thought. Like they were being _used_ somehow, pawns in a game that they didn’t know all the rules to.

A sick, bitter dread took over her. _This is not going to go the way you want. The fame, the fortune, the respect -_ it felt like it was slipping from her grasp, and she shook herself.

She didn’t want it to be true - so she tried not to think about it, at least for now, and focused on keeping watch on the forest around them as they walked.

 

* * *

 

"You're okay, Gavvy. It's all going to be okay," Lindsay whispered.

She sat, cradling his head in her lap. Michael had untied her hands but shackled her ankle instead to a nearby tree branch. She felt like a common slave, or perhaps a lion in one of those awful circuses she'd seen touring about the kingdoms - but at least she could hold Gavin properly, and stroke his hair like he was a particularly gangly cat.

He was still unconscious, but as furious as she was with Meg, she couldn't help but appreciate the fact that he was breathing calmly, now, and seemed to be quite peacefully asleep. Still. As she looked over at the others, huddled around the campfire in the middle of the clearing they'd stopped in, a mixture of anger, fear and helplessness bubbled in her gut.

_How can they act like this? How can two people be so apathetic to the fate of the world, to other human beings?_ Especially because these two - these two didn't seem like the ruthless killers from all their stories, or even the bands of bounty hunters she'd seen in Solaire when she was training as a Paladin. Those groups were rowdy, rough drunkards who picked fights, pushed around commoners, generally emanated disrespect wherever they went.

Michael and Meg weren't like that. A lot cleaner, for one. Plus it was just the two of them. And Michael... 

Lindsay _wanted_ to believe he had a good heart. There were moments where he seemed so uncertain of what he was doing, when for a moment something flickered under the surface. Also, she could tell from the way he spoke and carried himself that he was educated - maybe even a nobleman. If only she could figure them out, maybe they had a chance.

But as much as she tried to hearten herself, she couldn't help but feel nothing but miserable. Not to mention the deep, thrumming guilt in her chest. 

_You failed. You were meant to protect him, to get him to Ramsey, and you failed. Now you're both fucked and Taurin's gonna..._

_Gonna..._

She didn't even want to think about it.

There was a commotion by the fire, and she looked up to see Michael rising and saying something to Meg that Lindsay couldn't quite catch before he walked off into the woods. The sun had set an hour ago, and it was quite dark, but Michael didn't bring a torch. After a few moments Meg rose, too, and walked towards them. She was carrying a bowl filled with some sort of vegetable stew, and she walked over and stared haughtily down at them for a moment.

Meg was hard to figure out. Harder than Michael. She was obviously fiercely intelligent, incredibly talented, and very proud of her own abilities - but from what Lindsay knew of mages, she couldn't fathom just why the other woman was so desperate to continue all this. She didn't seem like the sort of person who was purely in it for the money.

_Then why?_

“You cold?” Meg grunted, glancing over the two of them.

Lindsay shook her head. They weren’t close to the fire, and the slaves’ garments weren’t exactly warm, but sitting here holding Gavin was like being right next to a blazing furnace anyway.

“No. He’s fine, too.”

“Good,” Meg said, and set down the bowl and a wooden spoon. She started to turn away, but in a final burst of desperation Lindsay called out to her.

“Hey - I’ve never understood, but what does unlocking your magic involve?”

Meg hesitated. When she turned back, she looked confused, staring at Lindsay up and down as though she was trying to figure out what sort of trick or trap this was. But Lindsay was genuinely curious. Her own education as a Paladin hadn’t touched on magic much, since they were all devoted to the worship of Sol instead, which had little to do with what was considered a pretty pagan school of thought.

“Why do you want to know?” she demanded.

“I just - I don’t know enough about magic to understand what’s happening to Gavin. Even if we’ll probably be dead in a week, I - I’d like to know.”

Meg hesitated, and for a second Lindsay thought this was all just going to be hopeless as usual. But after a moment she crouched next to them, staring at Gavin for a moment before she looked back up at Lindsay.

“All humans have mana,” she said - slowly, tightly. It came out condescending, in a way, but Lindsay thought beneath it there was just a hint of nervousness. Like she thought Lindsay was going to laugh at her. “Some have a lot and some have a little. There’s no way to tell until you unlock it. You can’t sense that it’s there and it doesn’t do anything. But if you want to become a mage, there are rituals you can undertake to try and activate it so that you can use it like you would draw on your energy to throw a ball, or swing a sword, or run.”

“Makes sense,” Lindsay said.

“Most people go to the Mages’ College, because they know how to do the ritual slowly and carefully. Even then, some people are too weak to survive having it activated. If your body isn’t used to active mana, it can just shut down. Some people go to back-alley mages to do it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. A lot of people die that way. It’s hardly worth the risk. Once it’s unlocked, you can use it to enchant objects or cast spells. There are different disciplines of magic. Elemental. Transfiguration. Conjuration. Healing. Each one is like playing a different sport - it uses different skills, different muscles. Just because you’re good at one doesn’t mean you can do the others. People usually realise pretty quickly which one they’re disposed towards.”

“And you do fire and transfiguration. What about knocking out Gavin?”

“That was nothing. A child could cast that spell, the problem is it’s rarely very effective. It worked because he was already in pain and probably _wanted_ to be unconscious.”

Lindsay nodded, humming thoughtfully.

“And all that time you must have spent studying and honing your skills... just to become a bounty hunter? Was that your aim all along? Surely the college frowns upon that.”

“You pay the college and they don’t give a fuck what you do with the things they teach you. But yes,” she said, and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, “It’s been my aim all along.”

“How come?” Lindsay asked in a small voice. “Bounty hunters are hardly heroes. What drew you to it?”

“Let’s just say it’s the family business.” Meg smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Lindsay was no idiot - there was a story here, she could sense it. But she also didn’t think Meg would be willing to share, not quite yet.

“And you and Michael?” she glanced in the direction he’d gone; he hadn’t come back, but Meg didn’t seem concerned. _Probably gathering firewood or taking a shit or something mundane like that_. “Are you two...”

She trailed off, uncertain.

“What?” Meg asked, an almost mocking tone in it. “Are you trying to ask if we’re fucking?”

Lindsay gasped, and felt a slight blush rise on her cheeks. Meg chortled.

“My gods,” she said, shaking her head, “You really are a good little Paladin, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that,” Lindsay said, face turning even redder. “I’ve heard far worse when I was training in Solaire. If anything Gavin here’s the innocent one.” She nudged him gently, her smile fading a little when he hardly stirred. “I just - didn’t want to assume.”

“Fair enough,” Meg said. She settled down on the ground so she was a little more comfortable. “Gods know a lot of people do. A man and woman traveling alone together all the time? Hard not to assume _something’s_ going on. No, we’re just very close friends. He respects my talents - a lot of people look down on sorcerers. Either they see it as black magic or as a... a _soft_ art, I suppose. Not like swinging a great big sword around.”

She looked pointedly at Lindsay, who could only shrug.

“Hey, I worked hard to be able to swing that big sword around! Not as big as Michael’s anyway.”

“He’d be flattered, I’m sure,” Meg drawled. “We work together well. Neither of us... quite fit in with the usual lot.”

It was obvious why, for Meg - there was a primitive distrust for mages in a lot of kingdoms. But what was Michael’s story? Still - Lindsay felt like she was getting somewhere; Meg had at least stopped scowling at her.

“So he’s like a brother?” she asked, and Meg snorted so hard she nearly choked.

“Gods, no! I’ve got six brothers and I despise every one of them. No, he’s definitely not like a brother. How about you two?” she asked, looking between them. “What’s the story there?”

Lindsay hesitated.

“I suppose to anyone else Gavin’s kind of like a brother, but... I don’t see him that way. I guess because I never had siblings, never had a normal family, I don’t really understand what that would even be like. When I was just a child I was orphaned and wound up abandoned on the southern shores. A group of priests from the Isle were just about to head back with their supply pickup. They took me in and raised me there. Gavin was already there - he’s a year or two older than me - we grew up together. When I was a teen they told me I had a choice about what I wanted to do. I decided to become a Paladin so that I would know how to fight, so I went to Solaire to train. I always intended to come back to the Isle, to guard Gavin and the Flame. I was just about to take my final exams when Gavin contacted me that Taurin had attacked the Isle. I came to help him at once, of course.”

“Guard Gavin?” Meg asked. “Why would he need protecting? How did he get there?”

“He can tell you himself when he wakes up,” Lindsay whispered, and a sudden lump rose in her throat. “Gavin’s special. Always has been. He’s the only one who can carry the Flame. I... he’s all I have left, now. I have friends in Solaire but the priests... they raised me. They took me in when no one else wanted me. I have no idea who my parents are or why they left me. Probably just couldn’t afford to keep a child - it’s not uncommon in Taurin’s kingdom.”

Meg was very quiet. Lindsay curled up, hugging Gavin more tightly to herself.

“I guess I’ve been trying to block it out. It’s... it’s really hard to imagine, that so many lives, so many people who raised me, who fed me, who taught me, who I laughed and joked and played with, were wiped out in an instant. Just at Taurin’s whim. That my home has been burned to the ground. It doesn’t feel real at all. At least Gavin got out of there. Although we’re headed back to Taurin now, of course.”

Meg looked away. Her fists clenched. Lindsay bit her lip - she wasn’t lying or even really trying to manipulate. She was terrified and miserable and it was hard to try and keep her usual cheer up.

“I just find it hard to understand why anyone would choose the Warlord over Ramsey,” she whispered. “He... he can pay you just as much and he’s a good man. He’d protect you. The Warlord doesn’t care about anyone other than himself. All he wants is power and control. He doesn’t respect you - he just wants to use you!”

Meg flinched. Her eyes narrowed and she rose, staring down at Lindsay.

“It’s not about the fucking money,” she spat. “The Warlord’s a huge name, one a lot of people are afraid of. Do you know what it would do to our reputation if people knew we’d worked for him? They would fear us, too! They would know how _worthy_ we are!”

“It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of you,” Lindsay began, and Meg snorted.

“Easy for you to say! You grew up with fuck all else around. Those priests were hardly gonna judge you, were they? You want to know why this is so important, Lindsay? Because I grew up with six brothers and three older sisters and all of them worked with my father hunting down bounties. All of them trained as warriors but I never got the hang of it. Magic was my calling, it has been since I was a child. And all of them _hated_ me for it. All of them called me weak and soft and tried to undermine me at every turn. They told me I’d never make anything of myself, that I’d get killed the second I stepped out the door. I’m nothing but a fucking _joke_ to them.”  
  
Her voice cracked a little, and she turned away, fists clenched and shoulders trembling.

“But I’m going to show them,” she hissed. “Since I left the college I _have_ been showing them - that I’m as good a hunter as the rest of them. That I’m just as strong, just as dangerous. That just because I fight with magic it doesn’t mean I’m somehow _less_.”

Her voice trembled, and there was a frightening passion in her face. Lindsay was half afraid that she was going to spontaneously combust. But she just nodded, slowly - because she could _understand_ that. Because it actually made a lot of sense. She could sympathise, even if she didn’t agree.

“That must have been hard,” she whispered. “Probably as bad as having no family at all.”

Meg looked shocked for a second - almost vulnerable. Then her face darkened, and she turned away.

“Yeah, well. I got over it.”

_Clearly not, if you’re still that upset over it._ But she just gave Meg a small smile.

“I think standing up against the worst man in the kingdom, defying him and being rewarded by King Ramsey for your brave service? That’s just as good a story.”

“You don’t get it. It’ll show we’re shitty hunters who turn on our employer. Who can be _swayed_ by the prisoners we’re meant to be mercilessly tracking down.”

“There’s a difference between being ruthless and being strong,” Lindsay said. “Gavin doesn’t look like much but he’s one of the strongest people I know. Anyone who knew the things he’s done would admire him.”

Meg just frowned and turned away. She was silent now, and stood for a long moment with her arms wrapped around herself. Then she stalked back to the fire.

Lindsay sighed a little. She’d made headway, she thought, but she was scared to be optimistic. Right now, though, escape was looking pretty impossible, unless she and Gavin could somehow get some time alone to come up with a proper plan. Either way, it’d have to wait until he woke up.

And either way - her anger towards Meg had faded, just a little. There was a way to use this story somehow, she just had to learn more - to figure it all out.

 

* * *

 

Meg felt uneasy the entire time the evening wore on. She thought she was hiding it well, but the second Michael returned from checking the perimeter he walked up to her and frowned.

“You look like shit. You okay?”

“Feel a bit sick,” she admitted.

“Oh, I did yesterday too! I think those sausages the other day fucked us. Not in the fun way. They smelled a little dodgy.”

It was definitely _not_ the sausages. In fact, Meg knew exactly what it was. It was Lindsay, and questions that had hit just a little too deep, and something in the other woman’s bright eyes. She felt like she’d let too much of her armour slip, leaving her raw and vulnerable to the slightest touch.

Gavin woke up later that night, and she was glad of the distraction - and to see him stirring, sitting up and looking groggily around.

_Need him unharmed,_ she told herself - _we need him unharmed, we’d be fucked if he was seriously hurt. Taurin made that very clear_.

“Gavin!” Lindsay cried - she’d been dozing off, but she steadied him as he sat up. She smiled, brilliantly, and it struck Meg for a traitorous second that she was very pretty when she looked like that - happy and relieved, a clear fondness for Gavin sparkling in her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Michael was already rushing to his side with water and a blanket. Meg grabbed the last of the stew and approached more slowly.

“My head,” Gavin murmured - for a second Meg feared he was still in the grips of the migraine - but he just blinked blearily around at them all. “Feel really fuzzy. Was I asleep?”

“Meg knocked you out. Does your head hurt?” Lindsay asked, and he shook his head.

“No... it’s fine now. I don’t remember much - last I recall we were in the city?” He looked around and bit his lip. “Gods, I’ve missed the whole day. It was bright last I recall.”

“We’re in Gramarye now. It’s just past sunset.” Lindsay rubbed his shoulders. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Gavin nodded. He touched his chest and frowned a little - but he didn’t seem to be in pain, and when Michael offered him the water he took it with a grateful smile. Michael spread the blanket down and they all settled in a little circle on it. For a second Meg thought about how much this broke their usual routine - sitting at level with their prisoners rather than keeping an intimidating distance. Michael was making no secret of the fact that he was pretty fucking relieved Gavin was alright. She wanted to elbow him, but decided against it.

“Eat something,” Michael ordered, thrusting the bowl towards him. After a second he unlocked the chain from Gavin’s wrists, but kept the cuffs on. Meg didn’t comment - not like he could escape with Lindsay chained up and the two of them right here. Gavin just sat up a bit, leaning against the nearest tree and taking the bowl with another small smile. He still looked confused, but after a moment he just started eating. Lindsay leaned with her shoulder against his, her eyes fixed on his face. It would have been almost sweet, if Meg had been the sentimental sort.

“So,” Michael grunted finally, after a few minutes of all of them just watching Gavin mechanically spoon stew into his mouth. “Lindsay told us how she ended up on the Isle. What’s so special about you, then?”

Meg had filled him in earlier. Gavin paused in his meal, glancing at Lindsay with wide eyes.

“Figured there’s no point hiding anything,” she said softly. “We can’t get in much deeper shit than this. If they want to know what’s going on, what harm can it do?”

Gavin chewed his lip for a moment, eyes darting nervously to each of them. Michael looked curious, and Meg had no idea what was showing on her face, but after a moment he gave a small nod. He kept eating for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, and finally looked up.

“How much did she tell you?”

“That you’re carrying the Flame. Taking it to Ramsey,” Michael replied.

“The priests have always known the Flame was powerful. That it’s a gift from Sol and can be harnessed by magic users as a source of untold power. But it’s impossible for a mere human to carry. They knew that one day someone would come for it - it was fate, foretold by all the stories. And when the time came a chosen one would be sent who would be able to help them.”

His voice had dropped into a low, lulling tone that reminded Meg of the bards and traveling players she’d met in taverns throughout the kingdoms. A sudden flash of imagination came to her - a young Gavin reading from a homemade book of fairytales by flickering lamplight to a tiny Lindsay, on the shore of some remote island.

“I’m guessing that’s you,” Michael said flatly.

“Yes,” Gavin said. “I’ve been on the island since I was a baby.”

“Who are your parents?” Meg demanded, abruptly.

“I have no parents,” Gavin informed them. “Sol sent me down to the Isle on a beam of sunlight. The priests have raised me ever since.”

A resounding silence greeted this statement. Gavin happily spooned down more stew.

“The fuck,” Michael said finally. “You’re telling us you spontaneously materialised in a fucking sunbeam?”

“Yes!”

“So did you like, appear at the bottom or did you float slowly down?”

“I’m not sure,” Gavin replied thoughtfully, “I never really asked! But since my birth I’ve been raised knowing my duty would one day be to carry the Flame to safety. I was taught all the ways of the priests.”

“This is a load of shit!” Meg burst out in disbelief. Honestly, she was borderline _offended_ by this ridiculous story. “You’re a human being like anyone else, unless we’re meant to believe you’re somehow made out of sunshine and rainbows. There’s no Sol, no fucking sunbeam, and whatever the Flame is it’s probably some sort of ancient Fey magic, not a gift from a nonexistent god. You really expect us to believe this rubbish?”

“It’s true!” Lindsay insisted fiercely. “Magic that powerful would kill anyone else!”

That... was actually probably true, but Meg was thinking Gavin just had a lot of unlocked mana he didn’t know about. Or his parents had, or something - there was a logical explanation here that definitely did not involve him floating down from the sky as a baby. Fucking hell.

Michael started laughing, and both Lindsay and Gavin glowered at him.

“That’s actually hilarious,” he wheezed eventually, “A fucking _sunbeam_. You were probably just orphaned like Lindsay and they fed you that shit to make you feel special.”

“You not believing it doesn’t make it untrue,” Gavin said tightly. “You don’t need to _laugh_ about it. This is very serious business. Taurin...”

He trailed off, and the look of pain that flashed across both his face and Lindsay’s made Michael abruptly shut up. It still felt a bit unreal, if Meg was honest. That the Isle was _gone_ , the priests all dead.

_And Taurin did it._

_Why should you care? Innocents are massacred every day in war and strife-_

_Yes, by people like him!_

Michael’s smile had faded now. He looked pretty fucking uncomfortable. After a moment he rose and walked back to the campfire. He’d left Gavin untied and Meg frowned as she followed him, keeping one ear open for any signs of them trying to escape.

“We can’t do this,” he hissed, as she reached his side.

Her stomach dropped.

“ _What_?” she demanded, and saw him shake his head, face torn and twisted as he struggled.

“We need to help them,” he insisted. “I’m sorry, Meg, just - I can’t hand them over to the Warlord. This isn’t like any other job we’ve taken. They’re _innocent,_ and we know it.”  
  
“They could be lying.” She felt numb; the words came out flat and dull.

“I don’t think they are,” Michael said, his voice almost gentle. “And I don’t think you really believe they are, either.”  
  
There was a tense pause. Meg dimly realised she was shaking. Even by the fire the night seemed colder than ever. She swallowed a few times but her mouth still felt dry, her tongue too thick.

“We are not getting on the Warlord’s bad side,” she said, finally. “We are not _bailing_ on a job as big as this!”  
  
“We’ll take them to Ramsey.” Gods, he sounded so _sure_. “He’ll help. We’re in over our heads here - they’re right, we gotta take a side-”  
  
“No,” she snapped- and _now_ something flooded in, and that something was a blazing anger. “You can’t set them free-”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You are not _doing_ this to me.” She stepped closer and furiously jabbed a finger at his chest. “Leave if you want! I’ll take them back on my own! If you feel so bad then _go_.”  
  
“Meg, I’m not leaving you here!” His eyes were huge but Meg could barely stand to look at them.

“Why the fuck should we help them?” she hissed, flinging a hand in their direction. “Their story’s a load of shit! I know you were raised to believe in Sol and you probably have some sort of weird religious guilt about the priests-”  
  
“It’s not that-”

“But you’ve never cared about _right_ or _wrong_ before now. We don’t live in Taurin’s fucking kingdom. If he does take over, and sure, maybe he will, then at least we’ll be on his good side! What the hell do you think Ramsey will do with that flame, if he even knows how to get it out of Gavin? Fuck all! He’s weak, and we’re not heroes. Sometimes to survive you gotta lay aside all the fairytale bullshit.”

Michael’s cheeks were blazing, but he kept on shaking his head.

“I know this is important to you, but this is not the way to gain respect,” he said firmly. “And if we help Taurin take over? We’re gonna become some of the most _hated_ people in the land!”  
  
“I don’t care if people hate me,” Meg said, scornfully. “They just have to know I’m capable.”  
  
“Evading the Warlord proves you’re capable.”  
  
“I told you, we’re not heroes. It’s not happening.” 

She turned away. Michael grabbed for her arm, but she shook him off. She wanted to be cold, but if anything she felt uncomfortably close to tears. She and Michael had never fought before, not properly, not like _this_ , and she hadn’t realised how totally fucking alone she felt when he wasn’t on her side. She hated the weakness it made her feel. There was something utterly humiliating about it.

“Meg-”  
  
“That’s _final_ , Michael.”  
  
Without another word, she strode away. Her heart was racing and she felt sick - when she glanced at Lindsay and Gavin, huddled together, it only made it worse. They were staring in confusion and concern, but she didn’t think they’d heard from that distance what the fight was about.

She did feel bad for them.

Not for capturing them, but for their stupid fucking naive beliefs. Just children, manipulated by the priests of that crock religion. Raised to think they were some sort of chosen ones. Forced full of magic that would probably kill Gavin eventually. And now they’d be taken to Taurin and tortured all because of the priesthood of Sol’s lies.

It was unfair and cruel - but it was an unfair, cruel _world_ they lived in, and she had to look out for herself and Michael. Couldn’t he see how _dangerous_ this was?

To obey Taurin was just completing a job.

But to defy Taurin was a message, a rebellion, something that would make them his direct _enemy_ rather than just some throwaway hired swords. No fucking way was she getting involved in that. Michael might feel guilty, but at least he’d be _alive_.

She stalked off to the perimeter and staring into the darkness, a shiver running down her spine that she couldn’t ignore. This was meant to be a job to relish. Instead, all she wanted was for them to get this done - for all this to just _end_ so things could get back to normal.


	5. Chapter 5

So Meg was royally pissed off with him, and it was sort of the worst thing ever.

Michael had tried to approach her three different times last night, and each time he was subjected to such a scathing look that he’d backed off like a dog scolded by its master. He’d felt terribly stupid for a while, convinced he’d just had a lapse in judgement and should never have offered to help the others. Then he’d been angry at _her_ for being so heartless.

Finally he just felt sort of miserable, because when it came down to it, he actually could see Meg’s point. They just fundamentally disagreed about whether helping Gavin was worth the risk. Neither of them was completely _wrong_.

Now dawn had come and his hope that Meg would have forgotten about their fight by this morning had been shattered. After a very tense breakfast, she’d curtly ordered that they separate the prisoners and move as fast as possible. Now he was marching along with one hand on Gavin’s shoulder, shoving him along while the girls walked a little distance ahead of them.

Gavin stumbled over a tree root and Michael paused.

“You okay?” he asked. “Headache’s not back, is it?”

“No, Michael. I’m fine, thanks. Just not used to a forest like this.” Gavin straightened up and Michael helped him the next few steps over an uneven bit of trail. He wanted to take the cuffs off, but Meg would flip out if he did. Everything was just a tangled fucking mess at the moment. He felt bad for how they’d treated the prisoners earlier, he felt worried about what would happen to them when they reached the Warlord, he felt guilty for _feeling_ guilty because he knew Meg didn’t like it...

Gods save him, it was like his world had turned upside down in the span of a few days. There’d never been a job like this before. Usually everything was perfectly clear. He didn’t know what it was - some dregs of his religious upbringing he’d never managed to shake off, or maybe the stories he’d loved so much as a child... he was torn in so many different directions he didn’t know where to turn.

Gavin wasn’t helping - fucking smiling at him when Michael helped him along like he wasn’t leading him to his death.

“I’ve never seen a forest until the last few weeks,” he commented.

“What?” Michael asked, and Gavin nodded.

“It’s true! I grew up on the Isle. There was jungle there, but it’s very different terrain. And when we did go to the mainland it was only to the shore. I’d never seen trees like this, or dirt, or _snow!_ I think if I didn’t have the Flame keeping me warm the climate change would be a bit of a shock.”

“That’s crazy.” It hadn’t really struck Michael until now; he’d travelled so much in the last few years to every point of the compass. The thought of only knowing one particular place was totally foreign to him, let alone never setting foot in a forest. “So you’ve never been to any of the big cities before?”

“No! Lindsay told me all about Solaire, though! Have you been there?”

“Yeah, quite a few times.”

“What did you think of it?” Gavin asked eagerly. It was hard not to share in his enthusiasm when he was staring at Michael with huge eyes, practically drinking in every word he spoke.

“It’s very... yellow.” He felt a bit stupid, but Gavin was just nodding along. “Temples on every corner. Priests all over the place. But it’s super friendly - probably the friendliest city I’ve ever been in. People are really trusting there.”

Gavin nodded, sagely.

“Ah, that’s good. That’s really nice to hear. Yes, followers of Sol try to be welcoming towards others!”

“A bit too welcoming, in my opinion,” Michael grunted. “I believe in keeping a healthy level of suspicion when it comes to strangers.”

“But I think most people in the world have good intentions.”

“Yeah, buddy, that’s why you lost half your money in Luminar and you’re now being dragged through the forest by two bounty hunters,” Michael said, and Gavin sighed.

“Tell me about other cities. Lindsay hasn’t been to many. Is Ford really built on the side of a cliff?”

“Yes, it’s gorgeous. Some of the best views I’ve ever seen. Amazing stone buildings that’ve withstood attacks for thousands and thousands of years, an immense river rushing beneath that leads off into the Eastern Falls... the Mages’ College is there, too, so the shops are really interesting. More enchanted objects than I’ve ever seen in one place before. It gets miserable in the winter, though, and the river rises a good several feet.”

“It sounds incredible.” Gavin’s eyes were wide with longing. “I’ve never seen a big river like that before.”

“I’m guessing mountains are a foreign concept to you as well,” Michael said dryly, and Gavin nodded.

“I’ve seen pictures of them! But never in person. What about Ramsey’s kingdom? Have you ever been there?”

“Nah, that’s too far North. I’ve never crossed the desert to get to those kingdoms.”

Gavin nodded again. He continued firing question after question at Michael, almost faster than he could keep up with - what animals he’d seen (including but not limited to bears, horses, wildcats, lions, unicorns and dragons), what animals he’d _eaten_ (bear? Please confirm if you ate bear because I think I did the other day), what sort of amazing machinery and inventions he’d seen sold around the city, what the temples of the other gods were like. If he’d ever seen a drunken brawl. If he’d ever _participated_ in a drunken brawl. What plays and operas he’d seen.

It was strange, the fascination with which he absorbed everything Michael told him. He hadn’t realised until now just how much he’d taken for granted all the experiences he’d had, both in his travels and growing up when his family had given him access to the finest operas, theaters, and galleries in Winchester, the city he’d grown up in. Gavin, on the other hand, knew absolutely nothing about the outside world. Literally nothing. He didn’t fucking understand how an eatery worked, or the entire concept of public toilets. He’d never seen a bard perform.

There was something almost sad about it, and Michael only felt even worse about the fact that he was leading him to his death before he could ever experience them.

_You can’t do this._

_It’s cruel. It’s inhumane. It’s not like any of your other jobs. Gods, look at him, there’s no fucking way he’s faking_ that _._

“-so I definitely _believe_ in the other gods, but I think Sol’s the most powerful of them all, and he protects humankind from any harm,” Gavin was babbling. “When certain humans stray from his light and cause things like war and death, he empowers others to have the courage to fight them. The Warlord is from the South. They worship Anarchy there. It’s no wonder he could kill so many people in cold blood. But Sol protected me - he got me out of there and helped me find Lindsay really soon after reaching the mainland. He sent strong winds to blow my boat quickly to the shores and a blanket of darkness to stop Taurin following me.”

“It’s the middle of winter, of course it was windy and dark,” Michael couldn’t help muttering, but there was no heat in it. He didn’t want to shatter the hope in Gavin’s voice. “Hey, how come you never left the Isle? Surely there must have been times you got sick of it and wanted to get away.”

Gavin fell very silent. For a moment Michael worried he’d crossed some sort of unspoken line. In the quiet that followed he could hear Meg swearing up ahead as she used a blast of fire to knock some overhanging branches out of their path.

“There was a time,” Gavin said finally, softly, “When... when Lindsay and I got some strange ideas in our heads. We were given some books from the mainland after a supply run and we read all about some of the other cities. We were young and stupid and got it into our heads that it wasn’t fair we had to stay on the Isle. That we were trapped there. We forgot our duty and planned to run away.”

“What happened?” Michael asked, with a sinking feeling.

“Oh, I chickened out and wouldn’t go. Lindsay was too scared to leave without me. That night I confessed to the head priest what we’d done - she didn’t want me to, but I felt so terrible that I couldn’t bear not to. We had a boat ready and everything.”

“Were you punished?” Michael asked quietly. He had an uneasy feeling about the entire situation. It had been funny yesterday when Gavin was going on about fucking sunbeams and being the Chosen One, but when he took a step back and looked at it objectively, there was something mildly fucked up about this whole thing. Starting with where the hell the priests had obtained the baby in the first place. They must have legitimately believed this if they’d kept Gavin on the Isle with them his whole life, even when they let Lindsay go off to Solaire to train.

“No, of course not!” Gavin cried. “They would never lay a hand on me. It’s not the way. He seemed disappointed, but he said he was glad I’d been called back to them. That night I had the most vivid dream of my life. Sol appeared to me and reminded me that I had the fate of the entire land on my shoulders, that without me darkness would overshadow the whole world. Since then I’ve never doubted what I had to do.”

The fierce passion in his voice, the way his eyes blazed, all made Michael pause and stare at him. Even with his hair messed up, even with the ragged black clothes hanging off his gangly shoulders - for a moment, he seemed to shine. He looked like the heroes painted in stained glass windows, like the figures of myth and fairytale bound to amazing destinies.

_You’re being stupid._ He kicked himself and snorted.

“Yeah? And what did Sol look like? Was he just a big glowing ball of light? Did he have a sun for a head? Oh, oh, was he a giant candle?”

“ _No_ , Michael!” Gavin cried indignantly. “I couldn’t _see_ him, but I could sense his presence. He was warmth and light and love.”

“How do you know it was Sol if you didn’t see him?”

“I knew,” Gavin declared confidently. “Of course I knew.”

Maybe Michael was just a paranoid motherfucker, but he had a sudden flash of a vision - the head priest standing over Gavin with a candle and a blanket, whispering into his ear as he slept. Maybe even using magic to do it. He shook himself - Gavin didn’t seem particularly phased by the experience. In fact, he was smiling at the memory.

_If it makes him feel better... ignorance is bliss, right?_

But he still felt uncomfortable about it all, and gnawed at his lip until he tasted blood. This entire situation was just growing more and more bizarre.

“What about Lindsay,” he asked finally, glancing ahead at the two women. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. He was impressed by her loyalty, determination, and raw strength even if her fighting skills weren’t the most strategic he’d ever seen, but the two of them seemed closer than any two people he’d met before. He supposed if you grew up on an island with only one other person for company, you’d be pretty fucking close. “You guys together or what?”

“Yes! We’re a team!”

“I mean, do you love her?”

“Of course I love her.” Gavin seemed puzzled. “Does it seem like I don’t?”

“No, are you _together_ -together. Are you a couple?” Michael demanded - fucking _hell_ , how had his life got to the point where he was asking this question with a genuine investment in the answer - Gavin’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked. For a second he looked very shy, cheeks burning red.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Oh, we - no, we’re not. Not like that.”

“But neither of you is with anyone else, I assume,” Michael said, with some amusement - Gavin shook his head frantically.

“No! Of course not. I just never thought about it like that before. She’s the most important person in my life. I haven’t thought beyond that.”

It seemed impossible to Michael that something like that had _never_ crossed his mind. They’d both been teenagers on that Isle at one point - the only two teenagers around. But Gavin was staring at Lindsay with a sort of bewildered wonderment on his face, and Michael was left to wonder what the fuck he had just managed to unleash.

A long pause followed. Michael tried to focus on the crunch of snow under their feet, the call of birds in the forest around them, the way the wind crept down the sides of his neck where his cloak didn’t quite manage to cover every patch of skin.

“Do you want to help us, Michael?” Gavin whispered, and Michael’s head snapped around to stare at him. Gavin was looking down, the smile faded from his face and an urgent, pinched look about him.

“We saw you and Meg fighting the other night. She still seems pissed at you. But the way you talk and act... I don’t think you’re a bad person, Michael. I think you have a good heart as well.” He looked up, a bit shyly. “You have a choice. You always have a choice.”

Michael swallowed. His mouth felt very dry and his chest was tight.

“I...”

Gavin was staring up at him hopefully and he couldn’t help but glance at the others, a bit guiltily. But Meg’s back was turned and she wasn’t about to hear whatever he said.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, miserably. “I _want_ to help, but this is all so... so fucking confusing. Meg’s right that it’s dangerous, that we have no idea how much of your story is true. I know _you_ believe it,” he cut in, when Gavin opened his mouth, “But she’s not religious at all and I haven’t been in years. If we risk everything getting you to Ramsey only to find out this isn’t what you say it is, we’re dead meat. I don’t know if I just want it to be true because I’ve read so many stupid stories about heroes. Especially since stories are just that - stories.”

“Stories aren’t stupid,” Gavin said softly. “Whether they’re real or not, they’re there so that when the time is right, we know what to do.”

He said it with such a quiet confidence that it felt like a candle had been lit in Michael’s mind; it seemed to make perfect sense. He stared at Gavin, who gave an encouraging little smile back. After a second, Michael couldn’t help but smile too.

Maybe Gavin was a naive idiot, or a pawn manipulated by the temple of Sol, or maybe he _was_ some sort of mystical chosen one. But here and now - he was a young man just like Michael himself, with a cheeky smile and a love for stories, and above all he was _good_. He wasn’t an escaped criminal or someone who’d managed to wrong a powerful family. And Michael wanted to help him.

“I’ll see if I can convince her,” he said. “If not... I’ll think of something.”

“Thank you, Michael,” Gavin whispered, and for a second a deep vulnerability flashed in his face - an undying sort of gratitude, a little crumpling of the features like for a second he was so very, very aware of just how high the stakes were - and Michael, in turn, became aware that the other man’s entire life was in his hands here. The responsibility seemed heavier than he could bear.

But then it passed, and they were just standing in the cold forest with Meg shouting for them to hurry up, and he knew he’d made his choice. Now he just had to somehow help Meg understand exactly why they had to do this.

 

* * *

 

It was evening by the time they stopped for a break. Gavin’s legs ached from walking all day, and he was glad to collapse against the nearest tree. Michael’s smile as he tied his bound hands around one of the branches was apologetic, and he brought Lindsay over too before joining Meg by the fire.

Lindsay scowled as she tugged at the ropes only to let out an annoyed grunt.

“At least it’s not chains this time,” she sighed, slumping back, and Gavin nudged her knee with his.

“He’s going to help us,” he whispered, and she straightened up, glancing over at the other two. It was clear Meg was still annoyed; her shoulders were tense and hunched as she yanked a cooking pot out of her pack, and she shook Michael off as he tried to help her.

“What?”

“He told me. He doesn’t want to take us to Taurin. He knows it’s wrong - we were talking the whole way over here. He’s not that bad when you get him chatting. He just has to convince Meg first.” He struggled to keep his voice low in his excitement.

Lindsay’s eyes widened - but her lips pressed together in a thin line as she watched the bounty hunters.

“Are you sure?” she hissed. “He was awful to us at the start. Could’ve been lying to you so that you wouldn’t try to escape on your own.”

“Lindsay,” he chided, aghast, “He didn’t seem like he was lying.”

“You can’t just believe everything people tell you. We don’t know these people. If they’ll kidnap and kill, if they’ll work for the _Warlord_ \- they won’t have a problem with lying.”

“Trust me,” he insisted, “He’s going to help us.”

“I _want_ to believe you.” For a moment something vulnerable flashed across her face. “I do, Gavin. But we’re running out of time. The further south we get, the more chance there is of Taurin finding us even if we do get out of _their_ clutches.”

Gavin bit his lip - but he supposed Lindsay had been subjected to Meg’s death stares for the last few hours. They were impressively powerful and would be enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

“Do you have a better plan?” he asked.

“I have been thinking of one, actually. Last time we got out of this mess because you managed to use the Flame to blast them - remember? If you could figure out how to do it again...”

She trailed off. Gavin’s heart sank - it had scared him, last time, that surge of raw power. He’d had no control over where it went or what it had done. If he used it again, who was to say that this time it wouldn’t straight up _kill_ them?

“I... I don’t know if I can.”

“You might have to try, Gav. Just - think about it, at least? As a last resort.”

He nodded, but the mere thought gave him a feeling of sinking dread. He’d thought, being the chosen one, that the magic inside him would fit like a glove. But it didn’t - it felt foreign and _wrong_ , and although he could manage to ignore it if he distracted himself thinking about something else, the thought of directly reaching out and _using_ it scared him. The headaches hurt badly enough now. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to harness the blazing light that he could see whenever he closed his eyes, whenever he thought too hard about it.

Either way, there was nothing they could do about it now.

_Plus Michael will probably help you before it comes to that._ The thought cheered him up enough to make him smile. _He will. She’ll see. And you’ll all get out of here_.

He settled back next to Lindsay. She looked exhausted too, and with a flash of concern he wondered if she was finding it hard to sleep as well.

“Michael doesn’t believe in Sol any more,” he found himself saying. “He was raised to but now he doesn’t. He thinks my vision was a load of bull.”

“Lots of people don’t,” Lindsay replied.

“Something must have happened to make him all cynical. He doesn’t have a devotion to any god at all.” The thought was quite honestly incomprehensible; it seemed to him like not believing that the moon was really up in the sky, or that the seasons changed, or that a city on the other side of the land existed just because you hadn’t been there. Since he was born Sol had always just been _there_ , in the beautiful dawn or the hot sand of the beach, or the sunshine warming his skin.

“Better than worshipping Anarchy,” Lindsay muttered. “Did he apologise for taking your pendant?”

“No,” Gavin admitted, and Lindsay scoffed a little.

“Then he probably _was_ lying.”

Gavin bit his lip. He hadn’t really thought about it, but now he felt a little uneasy. Still - maybe Michael had just forgotten! They’d talked about so many different things, after all.

He watched as the two of them set up dinner. There was something sheepish and tentative to Michael’s movements. He was staring at Meg a lot and she was trying not to look at him. Gavin found he didn’t like it - at least back at the start, when the two of them had been getting along and smiling and laughing together, it’d been a reminder that their captors _were_ human, capable of loving someone else.

_They’ll make up. They have to. You and Lindsay had your share of fights as kids. Eventually they’ll figure things out. If they really are close - things will work out._

“Michael was telling a story the other night,” Lindsay said. “About a hero who saves all his people from a mad king.”

“Was it nice?”

“It was a weird story for a bounty hunter to tell,” Lindsay grumbled, and Gavin had to laugh.

“Did it have a happy ending at least?”

“I think so. Should tell him some of ours. Maybe the one about Mark Nutt. Might serve as a warning not to be so wicked to Sol’s chosen one,” she said, and Gavin laughed harder.

“You’re terrible. We’re not meant to _threaten_ people!”

“Just saying,” she replied, but laughed as well, and rested her head against his shoulder. “Gods, how’d we end up in this mess? I wish I could go back in time to the Isle when none of this was happening. I knew the time would come one day, I just... I didn’t expect it to be this sudden.”

“Michael asked me if we’d ever thought about leaving. Remember when we tried to run away as children?” He felt her nod against his shoulder. “If you could go back and change things... would you do it? Would you leave instead, and avoid all this?”

There was a long silence, and he shifted back a little to look at her. Lindsay’s brows were furrowed, a thoughtful look on her face. She opened her mouth to reply-

But before she could say anything, there was a rustle in the bushes, and the others spun around. The movement saved Meg’s life; an arrow whistled through the air where she’d just been and struck against the cooking pot with a metallic _clang_!

“Fuck!” Meg yelled - her eyes huge for a moment, genuine surprise and fear in her voice - then she was snatching up her dagger, her other hand flaring with bright flames.

“Get down!” Michael yelled, and drew his immense sword, leaping to Meg’s side and raising it to cover them. More arrows shot from the trees and clattered off the blade; he dragged her back, out of range, both of them staring frantically around.

“Gav...” Lindsay whispered, sitting up and straining helplessly against her bonds - he gripped her arm tightly, heart hammering, both of them watching as the foliage around the clearing rustled ominously before shadowy figures began to emerge.

For a moment, the sight of their dark clothes made his entire being turn cold with dread. _Black - Taurin’s assassins? Isn’t that what they wear?_ But a second later he registered the blue bands tied around each hunter’s arm, and realised they just belonged to a guild.

There had to be about a dozen of them, a few hanging back and shooting, the others charging forward with swords and axes. Meg cast a wall of fire at some of them, but it only held a handful of them back; a second later she was forced to pull her dagger out to block a swipe from a woman bearing down on her, her face twisted into a furious war cry.

“Michael!” she called - he was fending off two others, and as Gavin watched he struck hard enough to dismember one man’s arm. The guy screamed, falling to his knees, and Gavin turned away with a retch.

For a second, the Isle flashed through his mind again. Until that day, violence was something that existed only in epic tales of battles and clashes between good and evil. Death brought those with good hearts to the sky and the warmth of Sol, and in his mind was associated only with the few elderly priests who’d passed, peaceful, in their beds surrounded by the prayers of friends.

He’d never been as horrified as he was that night, when he saw true _suffering_ for the first time. And it left him frozen, now, as he watched Michael spin around with a look on his face that was frightening in its intensity. His next thrust of the sword went right through the man’s chest, and Gavin let out a strangled little gasp as he watched the guy crumple to the ground. A second later a sword was arcing towards Michael, and everything seemed to freeze - but in a flash of a movement, Michael managed to bring his own blade up fast enough to block it.

“Get them the fuck out of here!” Meg yelled - she was surrounded and blasting fire as fast as she could manage, but the bounty hunters had sturdy shields that shimmered with a blue enchantment each time they were hit, taking the brunt of the magic.

“Gavin! Gavin, we need to get the fuck out of here.” Lindsay was shaking his knee, and Gavin snapped out of his daze. He looked up and realised with horror that two of the bounty hunters were advancing towards them with ugly smirks and swords drawn.

“No idea who the fuck has a price on your head,” the closest, a woman, snarled. “But I’m sure we can find out and collect it ourselves.”

Lindsay pulled herself in front of Gavin as much as she could with the ropes holding her back - he stared in terror as the woman raised her sword. Bound and helpless, they couldn’t run or fight back, and for a second he desperately strained to call on the Flame, in some last-ditch hope that it might save them-

But he couldn’t, he just didn’t know _how_ to harness its power, and all he could do was sit breathless and paralysed as the woman struck towards Lindsay-

Only to be intercepted by a familiar diamond blade. For a second Gavin couldn’t believe that Michael had moved that fast - but there he was, standing in front of them, arms shaking from the strain of blocking the blow. All Gavin could see was his fearsome fur coat, his muscled arms stretching out to hold that shimmering blade, his legs wide in a fighting stance, and he looked like the scribbled heroes from the illustrations of their children’s books.

“You’re fucking lucky,” he spat in the woman’s face, “If you’d laid a finger on him you’d be getting a much more painful death than you’re about to have now. It’s _Taurin_ who wants him alive, bitch.”

She barely had time to look surprised before he parried the blow and thrust his sword into her gut. She crumpled, gurgling blood, and he lunged forward to attack the second bounty hunter.

Both Gavin and Lindsay watched, aghast. Michael fought like it was an art form, with graceful, precise strikes each calculated to have the maximum amount of power behind them. It was like watching a dance, and he watched their swords meet in a flurry of blows before Michael got the upper hand, slitting the man’s throat with a neat strike. He fell and Michael stood for a moment - shoulders heaving - before a shout of pain from Meg caught his attention.

Gavin’s head snapped around - the sorceress was surrounded by the remaining bounty hunters and she’d taken a hit to the arm that left her staggering. A frantic burst of flame kept them at bay for a moment, but they were fast bearing down on her, and without another word Michael rushed to her side.

Gavin was staring at the fray - he felt dizzy, surrounded by so much blood, people falling at every turn - but Lindsay kicked his leg again.

“We’re leaving,” she said, and shimmied towards the bounty hunter who’d fallen right next to her. Her sword lay fallen on the ground from a limp hand, and as Gavin watched Lindsay began to saw her bound wrists against it. The ropes cut through easily, though she hissed as she slipped and cut the side of her hand - but she snatched the sword up even as she got blood on the hilt, and easily cut the second rope binding her to the tree.

“Come _on_ , Gavin!” she cried, and began to cut through his bonds, too. “This is our chance! It’s practically sent by Sol himself!”

“But they...” he trailed off, staring towards Michael, battling an onslaught of five different bounty hunters all on his own. Even from a distance Gavin could see he was hard pressed to keep them all off him.

“But what? They’re not our problem! We have to _go_ , while we have the chance!” She gave the ropes one last tug and Gavin’s wrists ached as they fell away, rubbed raw from having being tied for so long. The magic cuffs were still around his wrists, but they weren’t attached to each other. Lindsay grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet, pulling him towards the forest.

“We might not get another chance,” she said, but another scream made them both turn.

Gavin’s heart dropped. One of the bounty hunters was wrenching their sword back from Meg’s abdomen, and as he watched she crumpled to the floor, hands pressed to her gut, blood already pooling around her. He saw Michael turn - and saw the look of heart-wrenching horror and disbelief cross his face. A moment later the cry that left his mouth was inhuman, like nothing Gavin had ever heard before - a nearly animalistic cry of pain before he seemed to go berserk - hacking at the men around him like they were nothing, raw pain and fury in each movement.

_No._ Gavin knew how he felt; it was how he’d felt watching his home and family burn. _No, it’s not happening. No, it can’t be_.

But Lindsay was pulling at his arm again.

“ _Go!”_ she repeated, and Gavin stumbled after her. For a few minutes he couldn’t think clearly, and let her drag him through the forest - stumbling over fallen logs, branches and twigs whipping at their faces until he was scratched and bleeding. The sun was so dim by now that parts of the forest were shadowy and the trees seemed to blur into a single, ominous, many-limbed form, grasping at them with clawed fingers-

He stopped with a gasp.

“Lindsay.” She staggered to a halt ahead of him and spun around. “We have to go back.”

“Gavin, _no_.” She stepped towards him, face twisted and pleading. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. Michael was going to help us and if we don’t help them, they’ll die. Those bounty hunters were going to _kill_ us.”

“ _They’re_ going to kill us if they take us to Taurin!”

He shook his head firmly. He knew this was right, knew it in his soul, knew it as a tangible fact, as real as the warmth blazing in his chest.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he insisted. “I know it. I know _you_ know it, too.”

For a moment she stared at him, mouth opening and closing. For a second Gavin remembered her as a small child - fierce, free-spirited - not used to the Isle and their way yet. She’d grab the last piece of whatever sweet treats the priests offered them while Gavin happily gave it up - she’d push her way to the front of the dinner line. The priests let her, patiently - Gavin did too; he’d been a placid sort of child - and eventually she noticed. Eventually she caught on to _their_ way of doing things, and began to imitate it.

She’d been away a long time. He realised it with a heavy sort of ache.

But then her shoulders slumped, and she bit her lip.

“This could go very, very badly for us,” she whispered.

“Trust me, Lindsay. Trust Sol. We’ll be okay. Come on,” he said. “They’ll owe us, now.”

He turned and headed back into the forest. Lindsay trailed behind him, reluctantly - but when he didn’t stop and change his mind, she eventually sighed and moved up by his side. For a moment, he was struck by the ridiculous urge to slip his hand into hers. But he thought of Michael and his prying questions, and his cheeks burned, and he didn’t.

They reached the tree line. He could hear shouting and the clash of metal on metal, and Michael’s voice letting out hoarse, ragged shouts. If he could get to Meg, he hoped he could help her - and Lindsay had a sword; she could help Michael.

“You can still turn back,” he murmured, even if he knew he wouldn’t - but he couldn’t force Lindsay into this, couldn’t make her risk her life. “Taurin’s after me, not you.”

“Fuck off,” she said, with surprising heat, “You think I’m leaving you?”

He laughed, startled, and she jostled him.

“We stick together,” she whispered, and he smiled. For a second his fondness for her was as blazing and bright as any magic. _I love her,_ he remembered telling Michael - but he’d never felt it as acutely as in this moment, or as when he watched her run out into the fray with a fierce, echoing cry.

 

* * *

 

Michael stumbled, falling to one knee under the force of yet another blow. He threw up an arm to protect his face and the woman’s sword glanced across it, leaving a shallow cut and sending a blaze of pain down his arm. He yelled hoarsely, barely managing to block the next strike before it came down on his neck. His wounded arm trembled with the effort.

_Stay up. You have to stay up._

_You’re the only fucking thing between them and Meg._

She hadn’t left his mind once - it kept replaying, over and over in the back of his head. Her pained cry. The way she’d crumpled to the ground, her cape sprawled around her like a bird’s broken wings, the red blood against the snow. He felt sick at the thought, and the awful notion kept striking him - _we were fighting. If something happens, the last thing we did was fight. It can’t end like that, it can’t. It_ can’t.

He wanted to be stronger than this-

But he was growing exhausted and weak, and distracted by his worry, and there were five of them closing in on him now. As he struggled to keep his sword raised, his shoulders aching with the strain as the bounty hunter bore down on him, he felt a sinking despair, a flash of fear that this really might be the end-

And then a wild, fierce war cry rang out behind him. A woman’s voice, echoing through the clearing. He saw the bounty hunters look up, backing off a little, and managed to muster the strength to throw off the woman who had him pinned down and scramble back out of range, twisting to look behind him.

_Lindsay? The fuck?_

For a moment it felt like a dream - Lindsay rushing in with a sword raised, in her black rags but with her bright red hair billowing out behind her like a flame. Sheer determination was twisted in her face, and as he watched she charged right up to the nearest bounty hunter and swung the sword so furiously that it knocked his sword clean from his hand. Michael flinched at the clash of the blades; he remembered her strength from the time they’d fought, and watched in awe as with three vicious swipes she cut the man down, then hurdled over his body right in time to block the blow of another man. She leaned in over their crossed swords and kicked him hard in the stomach, whirling around in time to stab the second hunter who’d come up behind her through the gut, wrenching her sword free and bringing it back around to slit the throat of the first man. The bodies crumpled around her and Michael could only stare.

Her technique was crude, but the sheer power in every strike was astounding, and for a second he sat mesmerised. He was dimly aware of seeing Gavin move behind him, too, rushing over to where Meg lay. That jolted him out of his reverie; he realised Lindsay was outnumbered and found new strength to stagger to his feet - wavering, exhausted and dizzy; he’d taken a boot to the ankle before and it felt weak - and managed to stumbled forward and bring his own sword down across the back of a man distracted charging at Lindsay. He fell with a scream and with a last gasp Michael plunged his sword down through his throat.

He fell to his knees again. Lindsay was only just yanking her sword out of the chest of another man; the others backed off and glanced around at each other. Their people fallen, the rest of them injured and caught off guard, one of them let out a loud whistle and then they were retreating into the trees like cockroaches scuttling back into the dark. The clearing fell into silence once more.

it took a second, adrenaline still flooding his system, his heart pounding hard enough to ache. Then Michael registered the threat was over - and he crumpled, panting harshly. Everything either ached or burned and he felt dead-tired and wrung out.

Lindsay moved to his side and caught his elbow, steadying him. She was spattered with blood, but her green eyes seemed like some sort of reprieve, calming Michael like a cooling oasis.

“Are you okay?” she asked - he could barely hear her over the blood roaring in his ears.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out except a strangled gasp. She clutched at his arms, holding him up - stronger than he’d ever thought. For a moment he let himself lean against her, something steady and solid to her presence. He felt himself calm just a little. Just enough.

“Y-yeah,” he managed to stammer. _Gods, there hasn’t been a call that close in a long time._ The shock of nearly dying was hitting him in a way he hadn’t really expected. “What are you two... _why_?”

Lindsay’s lips twitched upwards, just a little, though Michael still caught a hint of wariness in her eyes.

“Can’t leave someone in need. It’s not the way,” she said, and although Michael had scoffed at those words a thousand times, right now he could only drink them in with greedy relief. “Gavin insists you were gonna help us. I wasn’t so sure. But he didn’t want to leave you two to die.”

Michael stare up at her for a moment, stunned. But before he could think of an answer to that - gods, what should he even say? _Thank you? I’m sorry? -_ he whirled around, remembering.

“Meg!”

Gavin was bent over her, hands pressed to her abdomen. As Michael scrambled over towards them, across the rocky, frozen ground, he thought for a sinking moment that they were too late. He could see the blood from here, a spreading dark pool against the soil. But Gavin looked up and gave a nod.

“She’s still alive!” he called out, and Michael nearly sobbed in relief. He reached their side and for a moment hovered uselessly, hands fluttering up and down over Meg’s body.

Gavin’s hands were pressed hard against the wound, and Lindsay grabbed the nearest pack and rummaged in it, producing a bundle of clean scraps that would serve well enough as bandages. She passed them over, but Michael barely noticed. All he could stare at was Meg - her head tipped limply back, face pale and lips a little bloodied. When he touched her hand it felt like ice. He wanted to pull her close, but was scared of hurting her. She looked so small - so fragile.

“She’s cold!” he heard himself cry, something wrenching and ragged in it.

“It’s okay, Michael.” Gods, Gavin sounded so reassuringly calm that it made Michael nearly want to cry. When he looked up the other man’s face was drawn tight with worry, but he kept his voice carefully steady as he explained, “She’s just been lying on the snow. She’s passed out, but she’s not in good shape. We need to get her to a healer, stat.”

“Where’s the nearest one?” Lindsay demanded, and they both turned to look at him.

For a moment, Michael’s mind seemed to go totally blank. He sat there like a fucking fool with his mouth hanging open and nothing coming out. They were so deep in Gramarye that for a moment, he felt totally lost - unable to muster the right information, to recall where they were and what was nearby and time was running out, running out, running out-

“Michael!”

Lindsay grabbed his arm and shook him roughly, and he jerked.

“The outpost!” It popped out of his mouth like she’d shaken it loose. “There’s a trader’s outpost near here where Gramarye hits the border of Queenswood. They have a guardhouse with a medical bay.”

Lindsay was already slinging the pack over her shoulder.

“Then let’s go. It’s getting dark and we have no time to lose.”

Gavin seemed to realise what had happened around him, then; he stared at the fallen bodies, the blood, and the colour drained from his face. He stared up at Lindsay, lips parted helplessly.

“Lindsay, you... these people...”

Lindsay’s lips pressed tightly together, and it hit Michael that it was very likely this was the first time she’d ever killed someone - the first time she’d torn apart anything other than the straw training dummies they used at the academies. How the fuck did something like that fit in with Sol’s way of living? But he supposed Paladins were meant to be warriors - still, she didn’t seem inclined to talk about it now, gently shifting Gavin out of the way and look at Meg herself.

“I need to bandage her,” she said curtly, and moved to rip Meg’s shirt open a little where the wound was. Gavin politely turned away and Michael reached out to touch Meg’s pale face, hand brushing gently down her ice-cold cheek.

“I can’t lose her,” he choked out - the thought struck her like something he hadn’t realised until now. Without Meg, what was there? A hollow cold, a dark forest he didn’t know his way through. Nothing, nothing. “I can’t...”

Gods, he hadn’t cried in years but he could feel hot tears sliding down his face now. Not only that, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so totally helpless. So much like a lost child.

“Michael, come on,” Gavin whispered, and suddenly the other man was by his side, tugging him away. “Let me bandage your arm. You’re bleeding.”

Michael numbly let him push up his sleeve - barely even registered it when Gavin washed out the wound and crudely pulled a bandage tight around it. It hurt, but not as much as the sick dread at the thought of losing Meg. Gavin hummed softly under his breath, but his hands were shaking and when their eyes met his smile seemed a bit sad.

“This is the second massacre I’ve seen,” Gavin whispered. “The first was on the Isle. Before that I’d never seen anyone _killed_ before.”

“You get used to it,” Michael said, hollowly.

Gavin bit his lip. He laid the bandage down but kept his other hand on Michael’s knee, steadying him.

“She’ll be okay,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “We’ll get her there in time. Fortune’s already on her side - that wound could have killed her instantly if it had been just a little higher, but it wasn’t.”

“Suppose you’re gonna suggest we thank Sol for that,” Michael grunted - rather unkindly, perhaps, but he really was not in the fucking mood. But Gavin just shook his head.

“No. I won’t, if it doesn’t help you. But Sol did give Lindsay the courage to run in there.”

“And to come back. You shouldn’t have,” he said, flatly, “It was a stupid idea. I would’ve just left you if our roles were reversed.”

“Lucky they weren’t, then!” Gavin said brightly.

“You’re gonna get killed because you trust someone you shouldn’t have,” Michael grunted - and the thought only sickened him further; Gavin’s broken body on the ground, Lindsay lying beside him. He’d saved them, earlier. That hunter had been going at them. It felt like forever ago but it was barely ten minutes. Gods, things had fallen apart fucking quickly.

“I trusted you, and I think I was right,” Gavin whispered, and Michael met his eyes. The look that passed between them was just a bit too intense, and he didn’t know what to say. He looked away and Gavin tied off the bandage. He squeezed Michael on the shoulder and Michael found himself unwilling to pull away; he wasn’t usually tactile with strangers, but things felt different here, and he didn’t want to be alone. Gavin’s hands were very warm, and it seemed to seep into him, too, filling him with a strange sense of calm - an odd, newfound strength.

 

* * *

 

Later, Michael would barely remember the rush through the dark. It felt like a nightmare; endless, the snow under their feet slowing them down, Meg heavy and limp in his arms, the stickiness of blood on his clothes, the dark forest stretching ahead before them, their destination never seeming to get any closer.

The others kept touching his shoulders, steering him onwards. He felt a bit like a child, reliant on them to hold the torch and keep them headed the right way, but honestly he was a bit of a wreck. At one point she’d woken, coughing blood, and he’d nearly burst into tears - begging her to hold on, her hazy eyes unable to even focus on him before she slipped away again. He wasn’t even remotely concerned with how weak the others must think him at this point. He could feel her growing colder in his arms with every passing moment.

But finally, finally - they broke through the trees and he saw the dim glow of the outpost lights up ahead. He could have sobbed in relief as they finally slowed and stumbled towards it, cradling Meg close in his arms.

“There!” Gavin cried, and began to run ahead when Lindsay caught his arm and tugged him back.

“Wait, Gav - we’re dressed like escaped slaves. They won’t help us.”

He paused, and for a moment they all stared at the two guards standing at the gates of the outpost. It was true, Michael realised with a sinking feeling - in this part of the south, there was no way they would kindly help. They’d be captured or killed. He wished to the gods he’d never dressed them like that in the first place - it was all coming full fucking circle, wasn’t it? Like fate telling him he was an asshole and holding him accountable at the worst moment possible.

“What should we do?” Gavin whispered.

Lindsay paused. Then began to pull her shirt off - they both yelled, turning away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Michael demanded.

“Undressing!"

“The fuck you gonna do, approach them butt fucking naked?”

“Yes, actually, and we’ll say that bandits attacked us and took all we had, including our clothes!” Lindsay cried, excitedly. “They’ll definitely offer to help us.”

That... actually did make a convoluted sort of sense, while perhaps being the last _fucking_ solution Michael would ever have come up with on his own - but the last thing he needed tonight was the sight of his two prisoners running around in their birthday suits. He shrugged off his bag - carefully, still holding Meg - and flung it at Gavin, who was already halfway through unlacing his pants.

“There’s spare clothes in there, I’ll go ahead!”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, he stumbled forward. The cold and the pain were getting to him and every step took almost more effort than he had left in him. His vision blurred as he watched the bright glow of the lights get closer and closer - he could barely hear the yells of the guards as they noticed him, couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Help us!” he called out - or tried to, it came out strangled and broken. “Please - help her.”

They reached his side. Strong arms took Meg from him and he slumped to the ground, watching as one of the men carried her inside - heard him yelling for help, everything blurring together. The other guard was shaking him, saying something - asking insistent questions that Michael couldn’t register. His heart was hammering and somehow now that they were here he only felt more scared than ever.

_We can’t be too late. We can’t be. Help her, help her, help her-_

 

* * *

 

The sanatorium of the trading outpost was a cosy underground chamber with a roaring fire keeping out the winter chill and several rows of soft beds. Meg was the only one currently in the room, and Michael sat by her side, clasping her hand and staring down at her.

Everything still felt like a dream - the strong herbal scent in the room that seemed to take over all his senses, the crackle of the fire. The healer had done a good job - they were lucky there’d been a mage here, and especially an experienced one.

She’d be okay.

But as he sat here watching her sleep - her face smooth and peaceful now, but looking even smaller than usual under the huge huddle of blankets and with her dark hair spilling around her face - he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by just how close a call that had been. They’d been hurt before on jobs, but never this seriously. Never to the point where he’d genuinely believed that she was probably going to die.

_It would break you._

_She means so fucking much to you._

He bit his lip. His stomach felt tight and even now that they were safe, he felt more nervous than ever. Nervous in a different way, now. He remembered his questions to Gavin about Lindsay, and chewed his lip harder, until he tasted blood.

Meg, who was the first person he’d managed to connect with after leaving home.

Meg, whose merciless teasing and addictive laughter made him feel like a normal young man for the first time. Meg, who’d become his new family - Meg, who’d taught him to navigate the underworld of bounty hunting, who’d given him a new purpose. Meg who’d had his back when no one else did.

For a long time he hadn’t wanted to admit it, had been terrified of ruining their friendship. But after what’d happened tonight, he couldn’t deny it - he had feelings for her, and if things had gone poorly tonight - if fortune hadn’t been on their side, just like Gavin had said - he thought it would have shattered him to lose her without ever telling her.

The revelation came to him slowly, heavily, and he sat with his head hung low.

_When she wakes up..._

He felt another bout of sick nerves, but swallowed it away.

_You survived tonight. There’s a lot more going on here you have to deal with. You can handle that when it comes to it._

He rose, and pause. He wanted to kiss her forehead but thought it might be a bit creepy, so he just reached out and adjusted the blankets carefully around her before leaving in an awkward rush.

 

* * *

 

Lindsay and Gavin were in the common area leading out from the san. They were huddled around the fire, whispering to each other and drinking mugs of steaming tea. Michael approached a bit awkwardly - now that they weren’t his prisoners he felt clumsy and unsure of himself in a way he didn’t like. Something like guilt, something a bit like trepidation. He could see his shirt hanging off Gavin’s narrow shoulders and for some reason that made him feel even _weirder_.

But they looked up when he came in, and both of them smiled at him so kindly that it made him relax. He threw himself into the chair next to them and Gavin reached to pour him a cup of tea.

“How is she?” Lindsay asked, gently.

“She’ll be fine. We’re lucky there was a mage here who knew healing spells. It’ll take a few days to recover her strength after the amount of blood she lost, but she’ll pull through.” He accepted the mug gratefully and sat for a moment, hands wrapped around it, drinking in the warmth. He felt exhausted, but at the same time time his mind wouldn’t stop racing in circles.

“I’m glad,” Gavin murmured. “She means a lot to you.”

_Dear gods, don’t make me think about that right now_. But he nodded, and took a deep breath. The first sip of mint tea soothed him, and when he looked up the others were glancing at each other a bit nervously.

“Gavin’s right, I did agree to help you,” Michael grunted finally. “There’s not much honour in bounty hunting but there was a time when... when my word and my good name meant a lot to me. You saved my life back there and Meg’s too - that’s something I need to repay. I’ll get you to Ramsey.”

Their eyes widened. A slow grin broke across Lindsay’s face. For a moment, she looked startlingly pretty.

Then Gavin was slamming into him, nearly making him spill tea everywhere - he wrapped himself around Michael, hugging him as best he could with him still in the chair.

“Whoah, okay! A bit too close there, bud,” Michael said, surprised - but patted Gavin on the shoulder. This close he could feel the blazing warmth emanating from Gavin’s chest. “I hardly deserve it.”

“You saved us back there as well,” Gavin whispered, but pulled back a bit sheepishly. “Sorry.”

He nodded, looking over Gavin’s shoulder at Lindsay. She was watching them intently - smiling, but still a little wary. Michael could hardly blame her. He swallowed his pride and turned to both of them.

“Apologies for... you know, burning all your stuff and hauling you around the forest in chains.”

“Get us to Ramsey and we’ll call it even,” Lindsay replied.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if you preferred just to go on your own at this point. I... still don’t know what Meg’s gonna have to say about all of this when she wakes up.”

Lindsay shook her head. For a second, that vulnerability reappeared on her face.

“If... if you’re happy to come, then I’d feel better with you along.” She looked down. “You’re a good fighter. And I don’t know my way around these parts. The more people protecting Gavin, the better.”

“Hey, don’t knock yourself like that. You’re pretty tough. Took down those bounty hunters like they were nothing,” Michael said, and Lindsay’s cheeks flushed red for a moment. She looked up, pleased, and for a second they nodded at each other, a mutual sort of respect blossoming. Then Michael clapped his hands together.

“Well. I think we all need to rest, but let’s draw up a plan first. You’re gonna need new armour - and new weapons. Someone get a map - let’s figure out the quickest path north.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AMAZING FANART](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/171965725169/justisaisfine-yo-hey-whalehuntingboyfriends) by my loveliest fave justisaisfine THANK YOU SO MUCH <3 <3 <3


	6. Chapter 6

Meg returned to consciousness slowly and with a great deal of confusion.

She couldn’t remember what had happened, just that she was drifting groggily in and out of wakefulness - that she was in a bed, somewhere, in a warm room. Dim candlelight around her. A shuffle of movement nearby - _Michael?_ And then she was slipping back under, she didn’t know for how long.

When she woke up again, everything seemed clearer. She wasn’t in pain, though her head felt thick and fuzzy and her mouth was very dry. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at an unfamiliar wall and a window through which orange light filtered. Dawn or dusk? She couldn’t remember.

_What the fuck happened?_ Her whole body felt stiff and she could sense lingering magic. Had someone cast a spell on her? Rolling over with a groan, she found herself in a homely chamber, clean if roughly furnished. A sanatorium of some kind.

And then it all hit her.

_The forest. The bandits attacked us and - and one of them hit me, I remember the pain. I was bleeding - Michael was yelling-_

Her hands flew to her stomach. She was dressed in a simple white shift but her hands touched nothing but a faint, raised scar against smooth skin. _Healing magic._ She could sense it now; a faint cool, soothing afterglow. _But how the hell did I get here?_

“Michael?” she called out quietly. Her voice wavered and broke a little, hoarse from her dry mouth. She felt weak and tired even if nothing hurt.

A shuffling noise next to her made her spin around, and she froze - confusion, then alarm sweeping through her. Gavin was sitting up in a chair on the other side of the bed, his eyes wide and hand outstretched like he was going to touch her. He was wearing Michael’s clothes, she recognised them instantly - his hair was all mussed like he’d been sleeping on it, and he was most definitely not tied up. The magical cuffs weren’t on his wrists.

“What the _fuck_?” she screeched, and scooted back in the bed as far as she could.

“Calm down, love!”

“What the _hell_ is going on here?”

“Please calm down! I’m really glad you’re awake, but I know you’re probably very confused!” Gavin sounded nervous, the words nearly tripping over one another in their haste to get out. “Everything’s fine, I promise! Just - settle down for a second and let me explain?”  
  
She glared at him and he flinched back a bit, clearly expecting an eruption of fire or perhaps an unexpected throwing knife - but to be honest, Meg didn’t think she could use her magic if she wanted to. She felt exhausted and she could tell her mana was running low - she’d used up a lot of it in the fight. 

She settled back against the pillow and fixed him with her most suspicious glare.

“Explain,” she hissed - her heart was pounding but she’d never let it show. Where the fuck were Lindsay and Michael? Part of her couldn’t help feeling a pang of hurt that he wasn’t at the bedside - she shoved it away. _Who the fuck cares? He can do what he likes. He clearly already has since he’s decided to free the fucking prisoners. No one else has the damn key for the cuffs._

“Of course.” Gavin licked his lips nervously and then turned to the table beside him. “Um, would you like some water first? Your voice sounds a bit…”  
  
Dear gods, yes, she wanted water. She held out a hand and he passed her a glass - she downed it in three enormous gulps and when she looked up he was pouring her some tea.

“You’re probably hungry, but the others took all the money. Once they get back we’ll find some food,” he said, passing her the little cup. “We didn’t expect you to wake up so soon.”  
  
So the other two were around - somewhere. She took the tea, pausing a moment to breathe in the soothing smell of jasmine before she looked up.

“So where exactly am I?”  
  
“Right! Okay, so during the fight Lindsay and I got free, and we started to run away, but we saw you get injured. We decided to come back to help out and Lindsay managed to fight off the rest of the bandits, but you were hurt badly. We’re at a trading outpost Michael knew about. They had a mage healer here who patched you up. The sun’s setting - you’ve been unconscious nearly an entire day.”  
  
_Fucking hell_. Clearly, in the meantime, Michael had elected that their prisoners were now free. But what Gavin had said…

_He could be lying. Pretending they came back to save you so you’ll sympathise_.

But honestly, given everything she’d seen and heard about these people, given the way he was staring earnestly at her - she was pretty sure that he was telling the truth. She didn’t _want_ to believe it, but she did. And despite herself, she was grudgingly grateful, because in the brief moments before she lost consciousness all she could remember was the chilling fear that _this is it. You’re going to die. You’ve run out of time, this is it._ And then the abyss.

A strained silence fell.

“So where’s Michael now?” she demanded finally.

It came out just a little too vulnerably, and the way Gavin’s face softened in pity rankled her. It was humiliating - Meg had spent far too much time fighting to not be seen as weak to show any sign of it easily now. But fuck it, of _course_ she was distressed - she’d woken up in a foreign place after a near mortal injury with nothing familiar around her. Even if she was pissed with Michael right now - he still made her feel _safe_. Especially since right now she had no mana, no armour, and no damn clue where her weapons had gone.

“Oh! He and Lindsay walked to the nearest town. She needs a new sword and he wanted to get us some proper armour.” To his credit, he managed to avoid sounding too accusing about those last few things.

_Swords. Armour._ She could tell where this was going, and was not overly fond of it.

“And you? You’ve just been sitting in here watching me sleep, is that right?” she snapped, and Gavin turned bright red.

“No! It wasn’t like _that_ \- I was in the other room before, just doing my own thing, you know?”

She raised an eyebrow, and he squeaked and went even redder.

“Making offering to Sol! I haven’t had a chance the last few days! But then all these men came in from a merchant convoy and I - I didn’t like the thought of you lying here all alone and unconscious. They seemed - rowdy. So I thought I’d best sit with you...”

His voice faltered off, flustered, and Meg could only stare at him.

That... not only made sense, but was actually pretty fucking considerate, and at the sight of him sitting there all hunched up and awkward, she couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. If anything, she was grateful. He’d said it so sheepishly, clearly not expecting thanks.

“Well,” she said, primly, “That - makes sense, then.”

He nodded, looking relieved, and they lapsed into a very awkward silence. Meg stared away from him - picking at the blankets, her free hand running absently over the scar. If it’d been healed with magic, it would eventually fade.

She didn’t know what to do.

In the state she was in, she couldn’t exactly hop out of bed and arrest him. Until Michael got back, she was stuck here, sitting in a room with the guy she’d been dragging to his death. The guy who was way too fucking nice for his own good. If he’d been angry, if he’d _hated_ her, that would almost have been easier to deal with. Angry men, she knew how to handle. Whatever the fuck Gavin was? No clue.

She glanced over - and found him _staring_ at her, with those huge idiot eyes. He jumped guiltily when caught.

“ _What?”_ she snapped - too self-conscious like this.

“Nothing! I just - I haven’t seen many new people before,” he pointed out, a bit defensively. “So I’m very curious.”

“It’s rude to stare.”

“I know. Sorry. Just - you’re very interesting.” And then, inexplicably, “I like the way you turn into a bird.”

Meg really had no idea what the fuck to say to that. _Thank you?_

“Right,” she replied, drily.

He shifted in his seat, embarrassed.

“It looks like fun,” he continued. “I mean, it’s like a dream, innit?”

“I really am not following.”

“I mean it’s what people dream about. Flying. And what every little kid wants to do. I used to sit up on the cliffs and watch the seagulls and wish I could soar through the air like that. There are stories of priests who reach such a state of connection with Sol that he calls them to him by granting them wings of fire, and then they fly into the sun and become stars at his side.”

He said it so solemnly, with such fucking _reverence_ , that it took all Meg’s willpower not to bust out laughing. There was, she realised vaguely, something utterly bizarre about this entire situation. She wondered if maybe she’d never woken up at all, and this was some sort of absurd fever dream. Or maybe she was dead and Hell involved being trapped in this room with a hallucination of the Sol freak telling her nonsensical stories.

“They fly into the _sun_?” she repeated. “That’s horrifying. You realise how fucking _horrifying_ that is, right?”

“Why?” Gavin cried, indignantly. “I think it’s beautiful!”

“Because they’re _dying_ , dipshit! Ever seen a moth fly into a lantern? They get fucking _incinerated!”_

“No, Meg,” he said, with infuriating patience, “They _transcend_.”

“They transcend to a fucking crisp, is what,” she said, and laughed. “You’re _stupid_.”

He didn’t seem offended, just peered at her curiously from under his wild hair.

“Either way, I think transfiguration is amazing,” he said, with genuine awe. “I had a few books on magic back on the Isle. I used to read them until they were worn thin, but I’d never seen anyone practice before. None of the priests had their magic unlocked. Let me tell you, when I first saw you turn into a bird I got the shock of my life! It was bloody amazing!”

“Well, you’d be one of the first to say so,” Meg replied - she’d listened in silence to this excited outburst with her heart pounding. By all accounts, they were flattering words - but part of her was still wary, and there was something borderline upsetting about it after how tumultuous the last few days had been. Everything she’d ever wanted suddenly in her grasp, only to be wrenched away again. “A lot of people hate mages.”

“Why?”

“They see it as black magic, as something dark - something unnatural, that it’s wrong to use. Many warriors think it’s a coward’s way to fight.”

“That’s foolish,” Gavin said, simply. “The bravery alone it takes to unlock your magic in the first place-”

“Exactly!” She threw her hands up. “Well, it doesn’t stop them. People like them are rigid in their ways.”

“Well, I disagree. I think magic’s incredible. If you have the power, why not use it? As for dark and unnatural - well, I’ll admit when you were striding towards us with your hands aflame I just about shat myself, but there was nothing _wrong_ about it. It was spectacular. Actually,” this added in a shy sort of mumble, “I thought you looked rather beautiful.”

Meg stared. A lot of people had called her beautiful before, to the point where she barely gave it any weight. She’d had it leered at her in pubs or sneered condescendingly from other warriors. Or breathed in reverence from too many men and women for her to count; all of them fleeting memories, never meaning anything _real_.

But this - something about his face, the sweet, earnest look in his eyes, the fact that it wasn’t just her appearance but her _magic_ and her abilities that’d put it there... this flustered her, and she couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. She stared for a moment, stunned - then turned away, biting her lip.

Things felt like they were slipping out of her control, and she quickly changed the subject.

“I suppose Michael agreed to help you,” she said.

“Yes,” Gavin admitted. “He did.”

“Well, I supposed I can’t stop him now. He can run off to Ramsey with you and I’ll go into fucking hiding so that when the Warlord eventually comes after us, he can’t find me. Maybe fake my own death.”

“Meg, no!” He sounded genuinely horrified. “Where would you go?”

She rather glumly realised she had nowhere. Quite literally no other home to go to. _He’s ruined us_ , she thought, but felt more tired than angry. _He actually has ruined us._

“I’ll find somewhere,” she muttered, but felt suddenly very uncertain.

“You could come with us,” Gavin suggested, meekly. “I’d like it if you did.”

“What do you care?”

“Your magic is powerful. Plus I think it’d make Michael really happy. He’ll miss you if you’re not there. I know I’d miss Lindsay if I was trying to get North on my own. I’m glad to have her around.” He looked down at his hands, twisting together in his lap. “She’s the only friend I’ve got, now. We’ve got each other’s backs. When someone’s after you - it’s scary being on your own.”

That hit harder than Meg liked to admit. She had friends from the Mages’ College, but she’d lost touch with nearly all of them after graduation. It was easy to, in this business, when she was rarely in one place for all that long. The only person she really saw on a regular basis was-

_Michael._

The pang that shot through her chest surprised even her. She missed him, suddenly - acutely. The last few days had been so strained and for a second she felt nearly close to tears. She was sick of fighting. If she could go back in time she wouldn’t even kill those stupid bandits, she wouldn’t want them tangled up in this in the first place. No Warlord, no Gavin, no Isle of Sol. Just the two of them doing what they’d always done - everything as it should be.

But they couldn’t go back, and if she didn’t want everything to fall apart... the only other thing she could do was say _fuck it_ and at least keep one thing the way it always had been. The two of them, together.

She looked up at Gavin, who was fidgeting uncomfortably. Probably wished Lindsay was by his side now as much as she wished Michael was here. The longer she stared the more she noticed the shadows under his eyes, the sharp line of his collarbone where the neck of Michael’s shirt was slipping off his shoulder. He seemed so bright all the time, practically radiating sunlight, that it was easy to forget that he was only barely their age - and carrying the weight of something bigger than even Meg understood. She felt very sorry for him suddenly - he reminded her a bit of the raggedy beggar boys that used to mill around their house. Her parents used to shout at her for talking to them.

She gave a heavy sigh, and Gavin’s head lifted.

“How much do you reckon Ramsey will pay?” she demanded, resigned.

His eyes lit up.

“Lots, I’m sure! He’s a king, inne? He’s gotta be rich. And the priests said he knows how important the Flame is.”

“I’ll think about it, then,” she said grudgingly, even if in her heart she already knew what was going to happen. Gavin’s smile widened even further and Meg flopped back on the pillows.

“I’m sleeping now,” she declared, “I’m tired. Wake me up when Michael gets here.”

“Can I tell you some stories?” Gavin asked eagerly. “When I was sick the priests always used to do that and it always distracted me-”

“I’m not sick.”

“But you got hurt. You must be feeling a _bit_ crook.”

“No,” she said flatly, “I want to sleep.”

“Sorry.” He wilted a bit. Fucking hell, he was making her feel like she’d kicked a puppy. It was bad enough how the tables had turned from him being their prisoner. “I just remembered hearing Michael telling you a story one night when you guys were trying to sleep.”

That was true, and Meg ached suddenly at the memory. She heaved a sigh.

_If you’re gonna be traveling all the way up north together, you gotta give a little, or this trip will be fucking miserable. Things have changed. You don’t have to like it, but that’s how it is._

_As far as you’re concerned, he’s the new client_.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But it better be a good one.”

He perked up immediately, dragging his chair closer until she held up a hand.

“Watch it, buddy! Personal space.”

“Sorry!” He pulled his legs up under him, sitting cross legged on the chair. “I’ll tell you about the great Bear Man of Gramarye!”

Meg rolled over so her back was to him. She felt too exposed sleeping facing him - but as she shut her eyes, Gavin began to speak in a soft, lilting voice, just like when he’d told them his bizarre-as-all-fuck story about being beamed down from the sky at birth. He had a nice voice, she realised that instantly - when she’d stayed in inns close to temples of Sol, she remembered hearing the priests chant their prayers every morning at dawn, praising Sol’s coming, and it was clear that Gavin had been doing that every morning since he was a child. His voice had a natural, sing-song rhythm that was instantly soothing, easy to lull anybody into sleep.

 

* * *

 

The sun was sinking low behind the trees as Lindsay and Michael made their way back down the narrow trail that led from a border town back to the trading outpost. She’d never been to Queenswood before, but she thought she rather liked it - although it was one of the kingdoms here in the South whose puppet ruler was firmly under Taurin’s thumb and whose larger cities were stringently devoted to the worship of Anarchy, those politics weren’t too apparent here, far out from the capital in the wooded outskirts on the edge of Gramarye.

She liked the fresh air and the forest, and the rustic vibe the village had had, with its thatched roofs and little houses and friendly populace, who’d emerged to stare with curiosity at the outsiders. After all the big cities they’d been through, it had reminded her of the Isle, and left her with a lingering, bittersweet nostalgia that she knew, if dwelled on too long, might quickly become upsetting.

She distracted herself now by swinging her new sword, humming under her breath as she lunged and danced along the path. It was a beautiful piece of work, of a similar weight to her old one, and the gold painted pommel made her think of Sol.

“So you do know footwork,” Michael called out behind her - she turned and looked at him, striding along with a faint amusement on his face. “Wouldn’t have guessed it from the way you fight.”

It sounded like an insult, but didn’t _feel_ like one. She sheathed the blade and fell back alongside him.

“Of course I know footwork. Done my share of drills at the academy.”

“There’s no logic to the way you fight, though,” Michael pointed out.

“ _Precisely_ ,” Lindsay cackled, and he stared at her in bemusement.

Maybe things should have been awkward, the two of them on the road like this - but they weren’t. They felt _easy_ , and they’d got on especially well during their trip to the blacksmith. Michael shared her appreciation for fine craftsmanship, and they’d ooh’d and ahh’d over some of the more intricate armour (which was, devastatingly, both impractical for long distance travel and _well_ out of their budget).

She’d never been able to hold a grudge, and Sol preached forgiveness as part of the way - so although she was still cautious, and would be until they were on their way north…

She was willing to admit that the bounty hunter wasn’t too bad. For now, at least.

“It’s a good blade.” She ran her hand appreciatively over the hilt. “Though I’ll have to get used to it.”  
  
“Sorry about your other sword.” He looked quite embarrassed for a minute. “I - I don’t know how attached you were to it.”  
  
“Not as attached as Gav was to his pendant,” she replied, a little pettily - that was the one thing she still hadn’t forgiven out of this whole mess, and for a moment she let annoyance pass over her, briefly, like a cloud across the sun. Michael looked genuinely guilty, and she softened a little. “I wasn’t attached to the sword. I hadn’t graduated yet. When we graduate we get a special one forged for us. Shame to lose it, though. It was enchanted.”  
  
“It’s still lying in Gramarye somewhere. We probably could trace our way back to it.”  
  
“No time,” she sighed. “We need to get North as fast as possible.”  
  
Michael nodded. He walked in silence, kicking a stone ahead of him, and seemed to be expecting chastisement - but Lindsay’s gaze just fell to his own weapon.

“That’s a nice sword,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. A diamond blade…”  
  
“In the old stories it was the only thing that could kill monsters.”  
  
“Monsters!” she cried, in disbelief.

“What, you believe in gods but not monsters? Supposedly they died with the Fey, years and years ago.” His lips twisted a little. “All just fairytales, but I loved them when I was young. It was a family heirloom.”  
  
“Did your father wield it, too?” she asked, excitedly. “Was he a great warrior?”  
  
Michael laughed so hard that he nearly choked on his own spit. For a moment his features twisted with something so hateful that Lindsay was a little taken aback.

“Gods, no! The man never picked up a sword in his life. He was a nobleman and a landowner, and a hell of a rich one, too. If he’d had his way my brothers and I would all have followed in his footsteps - managed his property, gained positions of influence in as many spheres as possible. He was part of the king’s court, once.”  
  
“What happened?” she asked - there was a story here, she could tell, in his brusque tone and the faraway look in his eyes. How had a nobleman’s son turned into a common bounty hunter?

“What happened? He got too clever for his own good. The rich are sly folk, Lindsay, they live for money and value gold more than any relationship. He was disloyal - making deals with the king’s enemies on the sly, cheating people to fill his own pockets. It all came out. And we lost everything. Not that I cared by that point.” He swung the sword wildly enough to trim a little off the top of the nearest bush. “I took this fucker off the wall when I walked out of that house and never looked back.”  
  
He broke off with a huff and spat on the ground next to him. Lindsay watched him, quietly. There had been times, when she was younger and easily influenced, that she’d felt a longing for a normal family life. She didn’t think Gavin ever had; to him the Isle _was_ normal, the priests the only family he’d ever known. But when she was wandering as a child on the Southern shores she’d caught a glimpse of it - parents with their babes in their normal houses, and wondered what it would be like to live among the rest of the people.

But after what both Michael and Meg had told her, it honestly sounded like it wasn’t nearly as pleasant as she’d imagined. Rich or poor, noble or not… no wonder both of them had fled, had pushed back in perhaps the only way they knew how.

“He sounds like a fool,” she said.   
  
“He’d have a fucking heart attack if he knew how I’d turned out. I grew up pretending to be a hero, but nothing we ever had was real.” He shifted, a bit cagily. “Anyway. It’s a boring tale.”  
  
“I don’t think so,” she said quietly, but he didn’t seem inclined to say much more, and after a moment she grabbed a big stick off a bush they were passing and whipped it through the air a few times. Michael yelped as it swung near him, leaping aside.

“Hey, watch it! You nearly took my fucking eye out!”  
  
“I used to play with these on the Isle,” she said happily. “We’d make swords out of branches and bows out of palm leaves and run about the jungle playing pretend. I was always a fearsome warrior and Gavin was usually a priest. Invariably he’d end up captured by some beast and I’d have to go and save him.”  
  
“Sounds about right,” Michael muttered, but there was a nearly fond amusement in his face, and Lindsay had to laugh.

“We had big imaginations. We’d re-enact all sorts of stupid stories. I suppose it was almost practice for now.” She trailed the stick through the dirt behind her, watching it dig a thin trench along the path. “Now it’s all _too_ real.”  
  
In the corner of her eye she saw Michael bite his lip, glance at her a little hesitantly.

“Before, in the forest… was that the first time you ever killed someone?” he asked.

The question made Lindsay’s heart sink. She’d been trying not to think about it, and had brushed off Gavin when he asked, but truth be told it’d been plaguing her all night and she had been glad to leave the outpost and walk to the village as a distraction. She’d woken three times from nightmares about being so drenched in blood that it was getting in her eyes and mouth and sometimes, if she wasn’t thinking about something else, the feeling of her sword cutting through flesh would swim back into her mind and make her feel sick.

“Yes,” she said quietly - she glanced at him, expecting judgement, but his eyes were surprisingly soft and kind. “Yes, it was.”  
  
“That’s rough.”  
  
“Yeah.” She scoffed out a humourless laugh. “I mean, the academy… Paladins are actual warriors, even if you think we just stand around temples all day. We’re Knights of Sol and trained to defend his servants and followers. If we have to, we are meant to kill. But until now - it didn’t _feel_ real.”  
  
“You’re allowed to kill?”  
  
“If there’s a good reason to. If it’s to defend the innocent.”  
  
“Meg and I are hardly innocent,” he scoffed.

“They came at Gav and I as well. It was self defence and there was no reasoning with them. No, it wasn’t against the way - that’s not it.” It seemed simple to her, but that didn’t mean she’d enjoyed it. “I don’t feel guilty about it, but - I don’t know. It’s… it’s hard to put into words.”  
  
They’d stopped walking and for a moment as they stood there, bathed in the golden light of sunset on a quiet trail in the middle of the empty forest, Lindsay felt the sudden weight of her duty on her shoulders. Sol was slipping away soon to leave them in the dark night. She was worried about sleeping again. For a second it all felt so sharply, intensely _real_ that she thought she might cry.

Michael stepped towards her. His face was soft and he tentatively reached out and touched her arm, dropping his hand a second later. She looked up and he gave a small smile. He looked so awkward that it was almost endearing.

_He’s not used to this. Being_ nice _to someone._ Perhaps it should’ve been a warning sign, but if anything it only made the gesture even sweeter.

“You’ve probably killed so many people by now that it hardly matters,” she said, a weak attempt at what she wasn’t sure was even a joke - but he shook his head.

“The first few times gave me nightmares,” he admitted. “As much as I’d imagined in my head I’d be some sort of… badass mercenary, I guess - it still hurt. It felt like I’d killed a part of myself, something that was there since I was a child. Any ambitions of being a hero, a good man. It’s hard to change who you are. But you haven’t done that, Lindsay. You were protecting Gavin. You were saving us. Think of them as monsters, if it helps.”  
  
“No. They were humans. That’s not something I _should_ forget.”  
  
“I guess so. You have a better grasp of what’s right and wrong than I do.” He squeezed her arm again. “What you do in the line of duty isn’t on you. It’s on them. The nightmares, at least - they pass with time.”   
  
She nodded, biting her lip. He tentatively squeezed her arm again, and on impulse she reached up and closed her hand over his. Their eyes met, something intense in it.

“If we run into Taurin,” she heard herself say, “If Ramsey decides to stop him, if he comes after us - I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him without a second fucking thought. His throat is mine to slit.”  
  
“Fuck, Lindsay,” he breathed - eyes widening at the passion in her voice.

“He burned my home and killed my family. He’s after Gavin. I need to do it.”  
  
“Alright,” he whispered, and for a second she saw the uncertainty in his eyes as he seemed to realise the gravitas of their mission, as it seemed to finally dawn on him exactly how big the scope of what they were doing was. “Fuck, okay. That’s the spirit, I guess.”  
  
She laughed, but it faltered away quickly. She realised her hand was still over his and quickly let go, feeling a little embarrassed, her cheeks heating warm.

“There isn’t time to wallow in fear and remorse now,” she said, the words addressed at herself as much as him. “If I’m going to protect Gavin and get him north I need to be all-in. I need to know that you are, too.”  
  
“Of course.” He swallowed, then gave a more determined nod. “Yeah - of course I am.”  
  
“Good. I know it must have been a hard choice to turn against the Warlord. But that’s good. Sol gifts us bravery in hard times - the courage to do the right thing. To win against the darkness. We can do anything as long as we’re brave.”  
  
He stared at her for a moment - the golden light shimmering in his eyes, lips parted a little, something like reverence in his face. For a moment Lindsay felt a sudden connection with him - like he was seeing into her eyes as easily as she was looking into his, as though it was nothing more than a window. Then he shook himself and nodded, and they continue on in silence as the light slipped away around them.

 

* * *

 

Meg was sitting in a chair in the common room when the others returned. She was glad to get out of bed, even if she was bundled in a blanket and still more tired than she liked. Beside her, Gavin was idly scratching a picture into one of the wax writing tablets she and Michael carried around; when she glanced over she noticed it was the runes for a blessing, the same sort that used to be on Lindsay’s sword. He had a little frown on his face, kept rubbing one out and drawing it again like he was struggling to remember it.

“You’re awake!” Lindsay exclaimed from the doorway, and Meg jumped a little. She’d been lost in thought. She looked up as they entered the room and her eyes went straight to Michael.

The sheer relief in his familiar brown eyes warmed her. He didn’t say anything - his lips pressed together, holding back some emotion - but he marched straight to her side and reached out to pull her into a tight hug. She hugged him back automatically, head pressed to his broad chest, arms wrapping around his waist. He felt so warm and solid that the tightness in her chest eased and she felt like she could breathe again.

“You’re okay,” he whispered against her ear, and a lump rose in her throat unbidden.

She was angry, of course she was, about this entire fucked up situation - but for a second, all that flooded away, and all she could think was how glad she was to be alive, how glad she was that _he_ was here. She heard the crack in his voice and knew she could forgive him this. It wasn’t the breaking point she’d been scared of, not yet.

“I’m fine,” she murmured back, and he squeezed her tighter for a moment. When they pulled apart she saw his eyes run over her face in concern before he squeezed her hand and pulled back.

Lindsay and Gavin were staring at him, and for a moment she felt very self conscious about showing any sort of emotion - but they were smiling and she turned to look around at them all.

“We can chat about things later,” she said. “For now let’s figure out what the hell our plan here is. You’ve got swords and armour?”

“Yes,” Michael said - he sounded hesitant, clearly wanted to hash this out - but she gave him a pointed look and he realised what she meant. _Wait until we’re alone_. He shook himself and pulled up a chair for Lindsay before sitting next to Gavin, all of them huddled around the table as he spread out their map. “We have enough supplies for a good few weeks, if we can find water along the way. Shouldn’t be hard in this climate.”

“Good. Gavin’s going to need a cloak with a hood. We can’t have him seen,” she said - with this new goal in mind it was easy to throw herself fully into work, into seeing this as just another job to plan and prepare for. “We need to get out of the south as soon as possible. I overheard that merchant convoy that stopped here saying that they were headed to Tork the day after next. It’s a bit further East than we need to be, but if we hitch a ride on their caravan at least it’ll get us out from Taurin’s influence.”

“You think he’ll send people after us?” Lindsay asked with a frown. “How soon?”

“A few weeks until he realises Michael and I aren’t on our way back yet and grows suspicious. But if anyone sees us together, they might report back to him. The man’s known for having eyes everywhere,” Meg replied, and frowned a little. It was starting to hit her just what a task they had taken on; the Warlord was a formidable enemy with more resources than they could ever dream of. It was going to take a lot of cunning and a good dose of luck for them to avoid him realising they’d turned on him and get North quickly enough to, hopefully, slip through his fingers.

“You think we’ll be safe in Tork?”

“He has more spies in the South than anywhere else. It’s the best chance we have,” she said.

Lindsay was frowning.

“Gavin and I had been planning just to head village to village straight north,” she murmured.

“Well that’s fucking stupid,” Meg snapped, perhaps a little too harshly, “That’s the plan of a child who’s incapable of more complex art than merely joining the dots to make a picture.”

Lindsay looked taken aback - then a flash of hurt crossed her face. Michael was shifting awkwardly, and even Gavin’s eyes had widened. Meg swallowed, feeling self conscious and a little bad, but she took a deep breath and continued more calmly.

“We’ll need to be stealthy and fast. Tomorrow we prepare further and we leave the day after. In the meantime, I want to have another look at that magic in you, Gavin.” She turned to him, frowning. It was the one piece of the puzzle that was still bothering her. “I’d like to try and figure out what it is - and if there’s some way we can use it.”

Gavin nodded, pleasantly enough. He started opening his shirt and Meg held up a hand.

“Hold up there.”

“I thought you wanted to see it,” he said. She stared at him quizzically and he added, “The scar.”

“Scar?”

“Oh, it’s atrocious!” Lindsay cried. “Real ripper of a scar. Show her!”

Before she could stop him, Gavin was unlacing his shirt and pulling it open. Meg was halfway through informing him that the last thing she needed today was someone whipping out their tits when her eyes fell on the angry red scar, and the words faltered away instantly.

“Fucking hell,” she hissed, leaning in to see. “The Flame did this?”

“I had the same reaction,” Michael muttered behind her - Meg could only stare in fascination. She’d seen the sort of scars that elemental magic could create - burns from lighting and fire, frostbite from ice that left flesh dead and blackened. But nothing like this - it wasn’t quite a burn, or at least not like any she’d ever seen.

“So if it entered through your skin,” she said slowly, “Then the Flame is clearly some sort of physical presence.”

“Well, yes,” Gavin replied, “I mean, we can see and feel it, can’t we?”

“What sort of ritual did they perform to get it in you?” she asked, glancing up at him, her fingers hovering just over his chest before she lowered her hand, electing not to touch it.

Gavin opened his mouth - then hesitated.

“Um,” he replied, eloquently. “I - it was all sort of a blur. I’m not quite sure how to describe it. There was chanting and it hurt a lot, I remember that!”

“Very enlightening,” she sighed, and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Sit in front of me, yeah?”

Gavin obediently slid off his chair and sat cross-legged at her feet. She leaned down and put her fingers to his temples, just like she had last time. She was aware of Michael and Lindsay leaning in curiously, but ignored them, shutting her eyes and letting herself reach out into his mind again.

This time the presence of the Flame wasn’t quite as blazing as it had been when Gavin had his headache. It was easier to focus on it - beautiful, bright and flickering, and so fucking powerful that for a moment it nearly overwhelmed her. She’d never been in the presence of what felt like such pure _magic_ before, and for a second she could understand why Taurin was so desperate to get his hands on this. She still couldn’t quite figure out _what_ it was - not mana, that was for certain - but if it could be harnessed...

“Can you feel her poking around in there?” she heard Lindsay ask.

“Sort of,” Gavin replied. Meg pulled back and looked down to see him staring up at her, trustingly. For a second as their eyes met, she felt suddenly quite breathless. Yet again, she got the sense that Gavin was like no man she’d ever seen before. His eyes nearly unnaturally green, something about the lines of his face - it all seemed to shimmer with some otherworldly glow, nearly hypnotic. She barely realised she was staring - then he smiled, and she shook herself, and looked away, flustered and too aware of how warm her hands were where they’d been against his face.

“It’s not mana,” she said. “It’s not like any magic I’ve ever sensed. It was like... like hearing another language. You can tell it’s words but you can’t understand them.”

Michael nodded, slowly. He was staring at Gavin, too, who blinked bemusedly around at them all. Meg scowled at him, but not with malice - like he was a particularly tricky puzzle. She was determined to figure this out somehow.

“So is Ramsey gonna know what the fuck to do about you?” she asked, and Gavin shrugged.

“Probably,” he said. “Gods, I hope so!”

“You mean you’re not _sure_? Fucking hell.” She rubbed her own temples now, watching him exchange a glance with Lindsay. “How could you prepare your whole fucking lives for this and still seem to have barely any idea what’s going on?”

They didn’t really have an answer to that, but she saw Lindsay’s lips press together tightly. For a second she thought the other woman was going to snap at her - but she just took a deep breath and reached out to grab Gavin’s hand.

“C’mon, Gav,” she said, “I’m starving. Let’s go get food and then we need to sleep. We’ve both been running around since Meg got injured. Not all of us have had a chance to properly rest.”

The glance she shot Meg was only just hostile enough for her to realise she’d offended her somewhere during the course of the conversation. Her automatic reaction was to sneer back. Gavin seemed oblivious, nodding and letting Lindsay pull him easily to his feet and lead him out of the room.

It left her and Michael sitting opposite each other, in an awkward silence broken only by the crackle of the fire. Meg stared down at her hands, fingertips tingling where she’d touched Gavin, slowly processing everything. When she looked up, he was watching her.

“So,” she said quietly. Her stomach was tight with nerves even if her voice was calm.

Michael fidgeted.

“So,” he replied.

Meg took a shaky breath. She gathered herself for a moment - it didn’t matter so much in front of him, but she was too aware that she’d missed an entire day, that she was sitting here wrapped in blankets like an invalid, that she’d essentially _lost_ their fight since he’d ended up freeing the others.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked, finally. “You realise what a bad position you’ve put us in?”  
  
“We were fucked either way,” he replied, calmly.

“Were we? Could’ve handed them over and made it out of there fifty thousand crowns richer. Now we’ve made an enemy of the most powerful man in the land. You realise we’re probably going to end up tortured to death, right? You and I are good, Michael, but it’s the _Warlord_. You don’t fuck with people like that.”  
  
“Ramsey’s powerful too, if we can only get to him,” Michael replied flatly.

“ _Now_ you say that. Before you thought he was the biggest pussy in the land.” She shook her head slowly. “I’ll help, I said I would, but I just don’t understand. You’ve thrown everything away and put our lives at risk. For what? For the two of them?”  
  
Michael looked away. He bit at his lip and she watched the firelight and shadows dance across his face.

“I didn’t get into this to hurt people,” he said finally, stiffly, and Meg couldn’t help but throw her hands up.

“Hurting people is part of the fucking job!”  
  
“Not like this,” he snapped. “Not like _them_.”  
  
“What do you think of me, then?” she demanded. “Because I sure as fuck do not give a damn.”  
  
“I think that even you know how bad Taurin is, and that you more than anyone understand that what Gavin’s carrying is important.” His eyes met hers and she struggled to hold his gaze. “And you don’t want him to take over.”

She bit her tongue. She wanted to snap at him that she didn’t care, she didn’t give a _fuck_ as long as they got what they wanted - but the guilt bubbling in the pit of her stomach stopped her. And the way he was looking at her - not with condemnation, but something else, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint…

He got up and moved to the seat next to her. She realised his hands were shaking.

“And,” this softer, nervously, now, “They saved your life. I… I had to repay them for that. I thought you were _dead_ , Meg. You were bleeding out on the fucking ground and there was nothing I could do about it. They came back for us. They ran into the forest to escape, they could have been halfway through Gramarye by now - but they came back and fought at my fucking side. They didn’t have to. And we’re meant to deliver them up to Taurin, after that? I couldn’t. I owe them more than I can say. You were - you were _dying_ and I-”  
  
He broke off, but Meg couldn’t look away - she held his gaze, saw his eyes blazing, felt her chest tighten.

“I owe them everything,” he choked out, “Because _you’re_ everything. I didn’t realise it until I nearly lost you, although I- I think it’s been a long time brewing, but-”  
  
“What are you saying?” she whispered.

She saw him swallow, hard.

“I have feelings for you.” It came out haltingly, clumsy like a teenage boy. “You’re the most important person in the world to me, Meg. I’m sorry, I - I don’t want to fuck everything up, I couldn’t tell if…”

He trailed off, and she knew exactly why. It was the look on her fucking face and the way she’d recoiled. She could see her own shocked expression reflected in his eyes.

She was blindsided.

Of course her immediate reaction was to shrink away. It was all so _sudden_. They’d been close for so long, with no trace of anything like _this_ \- of course her instant response was to bat it away, the same way she’d batted away Lindsay’s questions about him, the same way she’d brushed off a million men’s assumptions about their relationship. _It’s not like that. We’re friends, partners._

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t say anything, and she saw his face crumple before he wrested it back under his control.

“I just had to tell you,” he choked out, “Because I nearly _lost_ you and I didn’t want to - but it was stupid. I’m sorry.” He rose, abruptly. “Fuck, I’ve fucked everything up - I’m so sorry. This doesn’t change anything.”  
  
“Michael…”

She trailed off, helplessly. Everything had turned upside down again. She’d barely had time to process this, let alone figure out what to say. A surge of guilt hit her at the look in her eyes, but she didn’t know what to do.

She’d never thought _this_ would happen - and so she’d never dwelt on how she’d feel if it did. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she managed. _Sorry for hurting you even if I didn’t mean to. Sorry for shouting before. Sorry for our fight. Sorry I can’t say what you want right now-_

But she saw the way he took it, saw it instantly. _Sorry I don’t feel that way, never will._

“This doesn’t change anything,” he repeated, voice tight, and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Sorry, I - I’ll give you time to think about this. I promise I won’t make this weird. Damn it, this wasn’t a good time to bring it up, I just - needed you to know _why_.”

She opened her mouth, reaching for him - but the words came too slowly and before she knew it, he was turning on his heel and rushing out of the room, his fists clenched by his sides and the tips of his ears a flaming red. The shock was still settling over her, like falling snow, and she lowered her outstretched hand helplessly and stared down at her lap.

_Fucking hell. Fucking_ hell.

_He loves you._ It was surprising, new, made a funny, nervous thrill shoot through her - but he’d rushed off before she had a chance to tell him that she just hadn’t had time to process it yet, to figure herself out. She didn’t have the first clue where to begin to grapple with this.

It was just - it was _Michael_. Michael who was the first person to ever believe in her, Michael who’d always had her back. Michael who she felt safer with than anyone else. She loved him - but like that? There had been moments, of course - nights spent up late talking, the few times she’d walked in on him changing or bathing, a few drunken occasions when they’d gotten a little too close and a funny tension rose up between them on - but she’d brushed them off as silly mistakes and not given them much thought. Things had always just been comfortable and easy between them. This was _confusing_ more than anything else, and she settled back into her chair and stared into the fire. It felt like the world was moving too fast around her, and she didn’t know which problem to dwell on first. 

_Well,_ was all she could think, helplessly, _this is going to be an interesting trip._


	7. Chapter 7

“Your legs need to be a little wider apart. And your hands - don’t keep them so close on the hilt.”

Michael stretched one leg out and nudged at Gavin’s ankle until he shifted his foot along the ground, widening his stance. He reached to take the other man’s wrist, sliding his hand down the hilt of the sword. Gavin glanced over and met his eyes with a little smile, and Michael couldn’t help but smile back before he stepped away and lifted his own sword.

It was early morning, and the courtyard behind the outpost was very quiet. The fresh, crisp winter air was bracing, and it was nice to be out here alone and not have to worry about who might be watching. Lindsay stood a little distance away, doing her own morning exercise - a series of push ups and sit ups that Michael had to struggle to tear his eyes away from. She cut an impressive sight; in a loose shirt and breeches he could see the broad muscle of her shoulders, the ease with which she was pulling herself up and down, sweat shimmering on her brow and her face framed by tufts of red hair.

He tore his gaze away and turned back to Gavin, who was waiting patiently with his sword raised. He looked bizarre, a scrawny little figure who seemed out of place clutching a blade - but they’d figured that worse come to worst, he needed to at least know how to defend himself.

“Okay,” Michael said, and stood next to him. “Copy me. One!”

He cut his sword through the air; Gavin imitated the movement.

“Two.” Another swing, backwards this time, feet shifting as he moved. Gavin mirrored him - his brows furrowed a little in concentration, eyes fixed on Michael.

“Three!” The sword came up in a defensive stance; Gavin followed, wobbling a little. Michael reached out and absently pushed his elbow until it was in the right position.

“Four.” The sword swung back to his side; Gavin followed. Michael gave him a smile and an encouraging nod. “Great! Just like that. Now you do it. One - two - three - four - perfect! Again! One - two - three - four...”

He kept his voice level. They’d had a few tiffs earlier when Gavin ‘faffed about,’ as he’d put it, with sheathing and unsheathing the damn thing, but Michael had taken a deep breath and forced himself to be patient. Gavin was clearly trying his best - practically sticking his tongue out, face all furrowed and determined-like. Michael had memories of his tutors at home and how they’d yelled until they were red in the face, screaming and swearing at him, rapping him sharply on the backs of the legs with a wooden stick if his form wasn’t perfect.

He’d loathed them. 

He’d gotten good, but he’d _loathed_ them, and one memory stood out - his older brother Gregor, who’d served in the Winchester Court as a knight, who’d been the most disgraced by their father’s betrayal - the time he’d come home and observed Michael’s training and taken over it for a day. They’d never been close - the thirteen-year age gap had made sure of that - but Gregor had been kind and patient, and for a moment, watching him in his armour, with his noble stance and firm, calm voice, Michael had caught a glimpse of what it really meant to be a man.

_That_ was the reason he’d kept up with his training - that was what had inspired him, in the end, until he was determined to become strong enough to wield a sword as immense and magnificent as the diamond blade he’d seen sparkling on the wall of his father’s study.

Not to mention, the idea of bashing Gavin up with a stick after all the other shit he’d done to him sat uncomfortably with him.

“-two- three- four-”

He paced in front of Gavin and abruptly brought his own sword up, meeting Gavin’s blade with a ringing _clash!_ He saw Gavin flinch and gasp a little, surprised, and caught a glimpse of Lindsay looking up from where she was working out.

“Go on.” Michael grinned. “Swing at me. Like you’ve been doing.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Gavin said, and Michael laughed so hard he nearly wet himself.

“Fuck, that’s funny. Trust me, Free, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

“Not even with a big flash of white light?” Gavin asked - Michael stared for a moment, then Gavin giggled nervously. “I’m joking, Michael! I can’t actually control that!”

“Well that’s fucking reassuring, idiot,” Michael said, only to block quickly as Gavin lunged at him - suddenly, fast, with surprising cunning. “Nice! And again!”

He blocked Gavin’s next strike, and the next - parried the third, twisting the sword from his hand and stepping forward. Gavin stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and landed on his ass on the cobblestones with a grunt. Michael stepped over him, pointing the sword at his chest before sheathing it and crouching over Gavin’s fallen form with a playful grin. The other man stared up at him, painting, and Michael couldn’t help his laugh.

“That the best you’ve got, Sunbeam?” he asked, and flicked Gavin’s nose. Gavin yelped and screwed his whole face up.

“Hey, not fair! I’ve never held a sword in my life until this moment.”

“Yeah, it fucking shows.” He sat back a little and paused, suddenly too aware that he was still on top of Gavin, that he could feel the warmth of the Flame radiating from under him. He saw Gavin’s eyes flick up and down his body before he bit his lip and reached up to gently touch one finger to the shining pommel of Michael’s own sword.

“How’d you get so good?” he asked. “I haven’t seen many battles but even I can tell you fight well.”

Michael hesitated. His first instinct was, as always, to clutch his secrets tight around him like armour, to resist giving anything away when possible. But he looked down at Gavin - his face innocent with genuine curiosity, the morning sunlight glimmering off his golden hair - and thought of the other man’s childhood, how it had formed in his mind in visceral pictures. Hot sand, the smell of the sea breeze, the weight of his destiny. The Flame a constant presence, a bright flicker in the corner of his eye in the temple tower at the top of the hill. It had unfolded like all his childhood fairytales, stuck in his mind like a story.

He rose and held out a hand; Gavin grasped it and Michael pulled him to his feet, steadying him automatically with a hand against his back.

Lindsay had gotten to her feet and approached curiously now. She reached out and briskly brushed dirt and dried leaves off the seat of Gavin’s pants. He barely blinked - then both of them turned to Michael expectantly.

“Years of training with the most expensive tutors in Winchester,” he informed them - not bragging, never _bragging_ \- perhaps for some, such a decadent past would be a point of pride. Not for him. “My father may have never appreciated a sword on his life, but when he realised the King did, he’d do anything to help his sons gain as much _status_ and _prestige_ as possible. So I learned to fight.” 

He swung the sword a few times, artfully - saw their eyes both track the shiny blade, like magpies.

“Michael, were you rich, Michael?” Gavin asked.

“Fucking obviously,” Michael spat - perhaps a bit too viciously, but it was a sore spot.

“In stories the rich learn all sorts of strange things,” Gavin continued, thoughtfully. “Do you play the harp and sing?”  
  
“Are you taking the piss?” Michael snapped.

“No,” Gavin replied, but sounded like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Of course not. Did you have a big portrait of your family in the dining room?”  
  
“You laugh, but we actually did,” Michael grunted. “I was just a baby in it, though.”  
  
“Awww!” they both cooed instantly, making him roll his eyes again.

“I bet you were the _cutest_ baby, Michael!” Gavin cried.

“With your round face and your freckles,” Lindsay added, and looked at him so intensely that he could tell she was picturing it.

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” he demanded, thoroughly embarrassed. “Better than some weird sunshine baby!”  
  
“Do not mock the sunshine baby!” Lindsay said fiercely, and Michael laughed as he picked up Gavin’s dropped sword and passed it back to him.

“Come on. One more round. Fucking hell,” he added, as Gavin tried to reposition his grip on the hilt and proceeded to drop the sword again. “I still can’t believe they didn’t teach you to fight at _all_. Like surely they realised at some point that their precious chosen one might, y’know, need to defend himself against the forces of darkness.”  
  
“That’s what Lindsay was for!” Gavin chirped, and Lindsay beamed and jabbed a thumb at her own grinning face.

Michael frowned. Something in the way he’d said it… Yet again, he got the uncomfortable sense that they were all pieces on a chess board here. He just didn’t know whose game they were playing.

The sudden thought swam into his mind: _how much do you actually trust Ramsey?_

It made his stomach sink uncomfortably. He’d heard of the Northern king, of course he had - from the heralds’ news, from the stories that spread across the continent. But stories weren’t always true. The paranoid part of him felt suddenly sick that they might be walking right into another trap.

He set Gavin off doing the drills again. With Lindsay watching he could take a bit of a break - she seemed to know well enough when to step in and correct him with a gentle hand or quick, barked order. Michael watched, falling into a daze as his eyes tracked the rhythmic, flashing movements of the sword.

_And how much do you trust the priests of Sol?_

_More than you trust Taurin, that’s for sure._

_Why the hell would they think Gavin’s the chosen one? Priests don’t know shit about magic, or at least none of the ones you ever knew did._

_If Taurin knew about the Flame on the Isle, about what it can do… he can’t be the only one. He must have found out somehow. Perhaps Ramsey_ does _know too, he just could never get down South to look for it._

_There are answers out there - you just need to find them. Gavin and Lindsay seem to know fuck all. They just absorbed whatever the priests told them like a couple of sponges_.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye made him turn. In the doorway leading back into the outpost, Meg had come up to watch them. She stood leaning against the stone wall, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders like a blanket. With her hair down she looked smaller, frailer somehow.

Michael’s breath caught as he noticed her - her eyes were fixed on Gavin, carefully avoiding his own gaze. Something weighed in his chest, something heavy, guilty, awkward.

They hadn’t talked since last night.

He’d left for dinner and then drunk rather a lot with the merchants. That part of the evening was a blur and he’d ended up passing out on a rug in front of a fire somewhere. When he woke up he’d remembered what went down and felt so embarrassed that he couldn’t even bring himself to go and find Meg to say good morning.

_What the fuck did you think would happen? That she’d have been secretly in love with you all along? That she_ wouldn’t _find this entire situation completely fucking horrifying? You’ve ruined everything_. He was furious at himself and wished he could go back in time and undo the entire damn thing. It had been a moment of weakness and shock brought on by her injury. Was it too much to hope that maybe both of them could just somehow ignore the entire incident, pretend it had never happened - have things go back to how they were before, comfortably platonic?

He didn’t think so - especially as, now, she turned and accidentally met his eyes. He realised it seemed like he was staring, but before he could wave or anything she whirled around and hurried off.

_Damn it_.

_She doesn’t know how to let you down nicely. She won’t look at you the same, now. You’ve really fucked this one, Jones._

It made him feel a bit sick to think about, and he turned away and pulled his own sword, angrily swiping it through the air a few times. He caught Lindsay looking at him, and their eyes met.

“Have a break, Gav,” she called, still staring at Michael - Gavin stumbled to a halt, panting, and lowered the sword in relief. He rubbed his shoulders and wandered off towards the nearby fountain. Tomorrow, Michael knew, his skinny arms would be so sore he’d barely be able to move them.

“Your turn,” Lindsay said, with a grin and a nod.

“What?”  
  
“Come on.” She lifted her sword, adopted a fighting stance. “I need to get used to this new blade and that won’t happen if I only have the air to practice with.”  
  
“You want to spar,” he replied - and when she grinned and nodded, he realised with a thrill just how eager he was. It was hard to spar with Meg without genuinely hurting each other, so he hadn’t met blades with someone just for practice in a while. A fight was exactly what he needed to let off some steam and take his mind off things. “Okay. I’m curious if I can beat you one-on-one.”  
  
He smiled and backed up a few paces to the centre of the courtyard, and Lindsay followed.

“Our swords aren't blunted,” she pointed out.

“I’ll be careful,” he said - their eyes met for a moment before she gave a small nod. She must trust him, he thought - or at least his control. Did he trust her? Enough that he didn’t think she’d kill him by accident. She was right that the training for paladins was as rigorous as every other school of knights.

They squared up and he made the first move, circling and darting in to swing at her. She was quicker than he’d expected and parried with enough strength to wrench his swords sideways, nearly making him lose his grip on it.

“Fuck,” he whispered, but recovered quickly and dodged her next mighty swing - and another, and another, with a series of nimble ducks and side-steps.

“It’s like a charging bull,” he called out, and laughed at the way her eyes glimmered with annoyance. She slowed down and when he lunged at her, this time she was the one to leap sideways. She swung her sword and the pommel hit him hard in the back of the shoulder - he grunted, stumbling.

“Sorry,” Lindsay said, sweetly, “Did I hurt the little teddy bear?”  
  
“Fuck you!” he growled, and she laughed, high and easy.

Michael steadied himself and turned to face her again. They both lunged forward and their swords met in a series of erratic clashes - he struck, blocked, struck again, ducked a swing Lindsay made that would’ve come close to taking his fucking head off if they were fighting for real. She kicked at him, but he leaped sideways, and as she stumbled past he caught her side with a fist. She recovered and they faced each other again, circling.

Michael was sweating. His arms ached, and his shoulder, and the still-healing wound where the bounty hunters had struck him. They were both breathing heavily - but couldn’t stop grinning at the same time. It was a long time since he’d sparred for _fun_ , and Lindsay was definitely making it a challenge. He couldn’t even begin to predict what she’d do next.

What he didn’t expect was for her to advance, slowly - only to feign left and then bodily _tackle_ him when he tried to dodge.

“Wha-”  
  
Michael grunted as he hit the ground, the air knocked out of him as Lindsay managed to land with an elbow square in the middle of his stomach. He’d had to hold his sword away from his side when she jumped at him, fearful of hurting her, and it clattered away from him now as he gasped for breath.

Lindsay looked similarly disgruntled. Her warm body was pressed flat against his, and she’d knocked the wind out of herself with the fall - but a moment later, she sat up and scooted forward, pinning his arms down and grinning wickedly.

“Yield?”

He scowled at her, but couldn’t hold it as she smiled down at him, eyes narrowed mischievously. He tried to get up, testing her strength, but her grip tightened on his arms and after a moment she pressed her knee into his stomach warningly. They could have tussled - but he was tired and sore, and it would be hard not to hurt each other, and to be quite honest he wasn’t sure he’d even _win_.

“I yield,” he said, and she got up off him, grinning. He took a few deep breaths and shook his sweaty hair out of his face. “Could’ve skewered you when you jumped me! That trick wouldn’t work outside of sparring.”

“Hey,” she shrugged, “Play to win what it is you’re playing!”  
  
“The fuck does that mean,” he muttered, but she just held out a hand. He took it and she yanked him easily to his feet. He shook her hand after a moment, smiling. “Impressive work, paladin.”  
  
“And yourself,” she replied. She bowed so theatrically he had to roll his eyes.

A little distance away, Gavin started clapping and whooping. Michael turned and jabbed a finger at him.

“You’re next, Sunbeam.”

“Nooo, Michael!” he moaned. “I am too weak!”

“Too bad. You learn by doing. You know why I’m good? It’s ‘cause my trainer knocked me on my ass five hundred fucking times.” He fanned himself with his hand and wiped more sweat from his bow. “Gods, it’s too fucking hot.”  
  
“The sun came out!” Gavin said happily, and squinted up at the sky. It was nearly noon and Michael saw his hand go involuntarily to his neck to grab his pendant - only for his face to crumple when he realised it wasn’t there. The expression faded quickly, but Michael had still caught it, and it made him feel heavy with guilt.

He turned away, shrugging his cloak off his shoulders and groaning with relief as his bare skin hit the cool air. He wandered to the fountain where he grabbed the wooden cup Gavin had been using, scooping up cold water to take a drink before he stuck his head under the fountain, washing himself quickly before turning and shaking the water off like a dog. When he turned around the other two were staring at him, practically open mouthed.

“What?” he demanded, a bit self-conscious.

“Nothing!” Gavin squeaked. “Just - you look different without your cape.”

Michael saw his eyes trail up and down his body before his cheeks turned red. He reached out and clung onto Lindsay’s arm next to him.

Michael raised an eyebrow, confused and a little embarrassed. _As if they’re checking you out,_ he chided himself, _he’s in love with fucking Sol, isn’t he?_

Lindsay stepped closer, head tilting. For a treacherous moment Michael couldn’t help but think that she looked good like this - the sunlight glinting off her red hair, face flushed and eyes sparkling from the exertion of sparring.

“You have tattoos,” she said.

Michael blinked a few times, then looked down. He was only wearing a short-sleeved undershirt, knowing the exercise and his cloak would keep him warm enough out here in the courtyard. He nodded.

“Yeah?” he said. “Got them done after I left home.”  
  
“What do they mean?” Lindsay asked, shuffling a little closer. “Is it some sort of story? It looks like a picture book.”  
  
Gavin walked up too. He cooed like a fucking pigeon and reached out to run a finger along Michael’s arm, poking and stroking in fascination. Michael fought back a shiver at his touch.

“You’ve never seen a tattoo before?” he asked.

Gavin shook his head, peering up at Michael through his hair.

“Never!” he replied. “No one on the Isle had them.”  
  
“Wait, really?” He hadn’t actually thought that was the case, and let Gavin turn his arm over to see the other side.

“Hey!” Gavin cried excitedly, pointing to an image high on Michael’s bicep. “That’s the sun!”  
  
Lindsay made a pleased noise and Michael fought not to roll his eyes.

“It’s the pennant of Solaire, the warrior priest who founded the city. They’re pictures from the stories I liked as a kid,” he grumbled, a bit embarrassed. “It’s probably stupid.”

“No it’s not,” Lindsay said quietly, “They’re your heroes. What could be more appropriate to get tattooed on you? Is that one Mogar from the story you were telling?” 

She pointed to the silhouette just under his forearm and he nodded.

“The sun one is my favourite,” Gavin declared.

He felt a bit self-conscious with them both touching him - but found he didn’t mind. It felt easy just like it was with Meg - and when they asked him about each one and he found himself telling them the stories, he could see how they were listening intently, drinking in every word of the tales that had nourished him since he was a child. It was nice - exciting, even - too easy to feel himself becoming _friends_ with them.

It was a good thing.

It would take his mind off Meg, and the two of them would serve as a good buffer after how awkward he’d made things. If they could all get on - the journey north hopefully wouldn’t be too painful, right?

 

* * *

 

Meg sat in the sanatorium, cross-legged on her bed, hunched over a notebook and scowling as she flipped through it. It was a thick, leather bound volume with battered edges, and over half the pages were covered in her own messy scrawl. Red tabs were stuck here and there, marking particularly important segments.

“Fucking hell, there's nothing in here,” she whispered, and threw the book down, clutching at her hair.

She had an apartment in Ford - the only permanent home she’d ever had. It was where her personal library was kept, including all the volumes on magic she’d used when studying at the College. This was the quick version, the reference notes she’d made for herself to take with her on her travels. But she had nothing scribbled down about the Flame, or the Isle, or anything that might give her a _clue_ what Gavin was.

There was a big library in Solaire, she knew. If they passed through there, maybe they could stop for a bit… but it could be dangerous. It was the one city Taurin would probably expect them to go to.

With a sigh, she dragged the book towards her and opened it to a new page, snatching up her quill and ink pot to begin a new entry. But even as she tried to scrawl everything she knew about Gavin down, her thoughts drifted, and it was hard to focus.

_Michael._

They hadn’t spoken since yesterday. He seemed to be avoiding her - gods, she could hardly blame him, if he felt anywhere near as awkward as she did. And if she was perfectly honest, she hadn’t exactly sought him out herself, mostly because she had no idea what the fuck _she’d_ say to him if she did.

_The two of us, together…_

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been running it over in her head since he’d brought up the idea. She’d started _imagining_ it, she couldn’t help herself - and it was… appealing, in its own way. So many things were already so comfortable between them, and she knew Michael respected her. She knew they worked well together. He was funny, and he could be charming, and she enjoyed this company. But now she kept thinking about treacherous things like how it would feel for him to hold her close, or his lips against hers-

It was enough to make her feel shy and flustered, but even so, she couldn’t tell if she actually had _feelings_ for him. After all, for years she’d seen him as nothing _but_ a friend. And if they tried this and it didn’t work out, how would it affect their work?

So she honestly had no fucking clue what to do, and even worse, no one to _talk_ about it with. Better to leave things for now - at least until she was more _certain_ , although she wasn’t sure how that day would ever come. Feeling frustrated and alone, she let out a groan and threw her book across the room, rolling onto her back and reaching to rub the scar on her stomach. It hurt less today, and seemed to have faded a little.

“Um, Meg?” a soft voice called out, accompanied by a nervous knock on the door.

“What?” she demanded, rolling over.

Honestly, she wasn’t particularly in the mood to see _anyone_ right now. Being laid up in bed had made her feel too vulnerable, and the awkwardness with Michael aside, her two prisoners weren’t exactly the world’s best company. Sure enough, it was Gavin lurking in the doorframe, frowning. The others had bought him a new green tunic, and a black scarf was looped around his neck. He’d shaved, and without the beard he looked younger, his features even more pointed and elfen.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m just fine,” she replied, sitting up a bit. Gavin looked so nervous that it was almost amusing. “What do you want?”  
  
“I just thought I’d come to check on you. And I’ve brought you a flower.” He produced a single, bright yellow flower on a long stem. Meg could only stare.

“A flower,” she repeated, incredulously.

“Yes… seeing as you’re unwell.” He shuffled his feet a bit awkwardly. “I always read about it in books. I… I thought it was the thing to do.”

“I was going to hand you over to Taurin to be killed. Why the fuck would you bring me a flower?” she demanded. It didn’t make _sense_ , and she didn’t _like_ that - but Gavin just smiled pleasantly.

“I thought you knew we’d forgiven you that. Taurin isn’t someone easily crossed and you had no reason to trust us. Besides, you’ve agreed to help us now, so we’re friends!”  
  
“We’re not _friends_ ,” she grumbled. “Friendship is earned.”  
  
“Well, can I earn some with the flower?” he asked eagerly - and despite herself, Meg had to scoff out a laugh. She held out a hand and Gavin brightened as he walked into the room. It was a sweet gesture even if she didn’t quite see the point, and she took the flower, turning it over in her hands with a small smile.

No one had done something like that for her in a long time - not since the College, she thought - most gifts from men these days came with an ulterior motive.

“Where’d you get this?” she asked.

“The forest!” He perched on the edge of the bed and tentatively picked the fallen book off the floor. “What are you up to?”  
  
“Studying. Trying to figure out what the hell the Flame might be.”  
  
“What do you mean? It’s just the Flame. Sol sent it down for us.”  
  
“Keep believing that if you like, but I want to know exactly what it is and where it came from, and what the hell it might be able to do,” Meg said. She took the book back and carefully pressed the flower into the back pages. “‘Sent down by the sun god’ isn’t quite enough of an answer for me.”  
  
Gavin hummed thoughtfully. He was rubbing his chest, and Meg wondered if the scar still hurt.

“Come here a sec,” she demanded, and Gavin blinked.

“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean come sit here.” She patted the bed near her and Gavin swung his legs up and shuffled over to sit cross-legged next to her. Meg eyed him curiously - he was a funny thing, he didn’t move like any warrior or mage she’d ever known, but he wasn’t quite a priest, either. It was hard to figure anything about him out.

“What are we doing?” Gavin asked, cheerfully. “Are you gonna teach me something too? Lindsay and Michael were helping me learn to fight!”  
  
“So I saw,” she said - her heart skipped a beat for a second at the memory of Michael, and how their eyes had met - she’d wanted to go out and talk to him but the words had seized up in her throat, and with nothing to say she’d been scared of somehow making things worse. “I want to investigate something. You said you’ve never had your magic unlocked, right?”  
  
“That’s right!”  
  
“We don’t know for certain. It could’ve happened when you were a child. That thing in your head is drowning out everything else. I can’t sense if you’ve got your mana unlocked or not. I want to try and figure out exactly how your magic works. Because you _must_ have magic of some kind or that thing should have killed you by now.” A little of her puzzled frustration was leaking into her voice, but Gavin just kept staring at her, pleasantly. “You can’t control when or how you use the Flame, right?”  
  
“Yeah, that light before sort of just burst out of me!”

“Great. Let’s try perform a small spell to see if you can use regular mana.”  
  
She flicked through her book until she reached her list of spells. She hadn’t needed to consult this in years; most of them were pure instinct by now. Finally she found the page she was looking for; she turned it to show Gavin and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table.

“This is one of the most basic spells there is - the first one any mage practices to make sure their mana really was unlocked. It’s practically useless and anyone with a penchant for elemental magic could cast it in their sleep. All you have to do is move the water in the cup. Like this.”

She held out a hand and the surface of the water rippled as though nudged by an invisible force. Gavin’s eyes widened.

“See? Tiny. Easy.”  


“But how?” he asked, and then squinted at it intensely like he was trying to move it by sheer force of will. Meg couldn’t help her laugh.

“Not like that, stupid. Have a look at the spell.” She tapped at the book. “To learn any new spell it’s a matter of harnessing your mana the right way. Spells are written in pictograms to help you visualise what to do. First, you close your eyes and feel the magic inside you - like focusing on pain, or your heartbeat, or how tired you are. Once you can feel it, all you have to do is nudge it. Imagine you’re running your hand through it like bathwater. Picture the water moving. And extend that feeling outside of your body.”  
  
“It makes sense when you say it,” Gavin said with a frown, “But I don’t know how to _do_ it.”  
  
“Start by closing your eyes,” she said - he did, and she reached out and touched his hand. He jumped a little, but didn’t pull away as she folded their fingers together, reaching through the connection to try and sense what he was doing. “Can you feel your magic?”  
  
“I can feel the Flame,” he murmured. “It’s just sort of warm.”  
  
“Try and move it. Just like I said.” Her voice came out far more patient than she’d expected it to. She heard him let out a strained noise and felt the magic in him blaze a little more brightly. But no shift in mana. No mana to be felt at all.

“Is it working?” he asked. “I’m imagining pushing loads of water around. It should be a bloody whirlpool by now.”

She opened her eyes and looked at the cup. The water was perfectly still.

“It’s not working,” she said, and his eyes opened. He let out a disappointed sigh and slumped down on the bed.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing at all,” he complained. “Lindsay wanted me to learn to use the Flame but I _can’t_. It just sits in my chest and does its own thing.”

“The magic cuffs didn’t do anything to you, did they?” she asked with a frown.

“Not as far as I could tell!”  
  
“I’m going to try a mana draining spell,” she declared. “Even if your magic isn’t unlocked it should allow me to draw on your dormant mana to use for myself.”  
  
Gavin hesitated.

“Will it hurt?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No. If you aren’t using your mana you shouldn’t feel a thing. You won’t even be tired.”

“Okay,” he replied, and there was a level of trust in his voice that made Meg hesitate. She could have been lying to him. It would have been easy and he wouldn’t even have known. Either it hadn’t occurred to him or he trusted her far more than she deserved. For a moment it almost felt like too much responsibility.

But she shook those feelings off and once again rested her fingers on his temples, casting the spell easily. She felt her magic reach out, ready to wind around his-

_Nothing._

An empty blankness, a feeling of being totally lost. She could still feel the Flame, burning brightly in the core of his soul. But otherwise, it was like upturning an empty cup. Her magic retreated back to her none the stronger.

“It’s impossible,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked, quizzically.

“I don’t… I don’t understand it.”  
  
“What is it? Oh gods, am I somehow abnormal?” he cried.

“Yes, you’re fucking abnormal! _Everyone_ has mana,” there was a hysterically confused note in her voice, “Even just a little bit. But you… you don’t have any. None at fucking all. You don’t have mana, you just - _are_ magic. I can feel it in you, it’s the only way you could carry the Flame. But it’s not mana as we know it, not the sort we harness for spells. Fucking hell,” she said, and stared at him with something like awe. “What _are_ you?”  
  
A long, awkward silence fell. Gavin’s eyes were huge and wide.

“I’m just me,” he murmured finally.

_The chosen one,_ Meg thought, and stared at him. There was something going on here, something she couldn’t put her finger on, but one thing was clear - there was no way Gavin had ever been a normal baby. The priests had been on to something, the question was _what_ and _how_. (The ‘fell from the sky’ theory was still out of the fucking question, though, due to its physical and geographical impossibility. Babies didn’t just _appear_.)

It just didn’t make sense.

Everyone had mana. She remembered some fresh-faced boy asking in one of her first classes at the Mages’ College - they’d all been told in no uncertain terms. Just like everyone had blood, everyone had breath in their lungs - _everyone_ had mana, unless they were dead.

Maybe her spell had been wrong. Maybe she’d cast it incorrectly. She’d have to take him to another mage to double check - but someone discreet, someone she could trust not to go running around spreading the word about this.

_Jeremy went north after he was expelled, didn’t he? Is he still in Vale? Maybe blood magic can turn up something I haven’t._

“You’re glaring at me,” Gavin said quietly, and she jerked back to attention to realise that she was, in fact, giving him a rather ferocious look.

“I’m _confused_ ,” she replied.

“Well, it’s hardly my fault that I don’t know what I am! Maybe,” he added airly, “There are some things in this world that just can’t be explained!”  
  
“Nah, there’s answers. I’ll _find_ them.” She jabbed a finger at him and he blinked owlishly.

“That sounds like a threat,” he replied, and gave a little giggle before adding, teasingly, “You should be careful. I know how to fight now, you know!”  
  
“I could kill you in two seconds,” she shot back, and was smiling before she quite realised it.

“What, with your bare hands? No magic?”  
  
“Probably,” she laughed. “Wanna go?”

She lunged at him playfully and Gavin squeaked and flinched back. She ended up on top of him on the bed and they tussled for a moment - Gavin was laughing and curling up in a foetal position while she mock-punched at him. For a moment she forgot herself; the play fighting brought her back to when she and her closest brother used to wrestle as children, before everything fell apart - to her first girlfriend at the Mages’ College - a childish happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time but that something about his sunny innocence brought out in her.

The door opened.

“Hey Gav, are you- oh!”

And there was Lindsay, standing in the doorway looking shocked. The sound had interrupted them; Gavin uncurled from where they’d been locked in each other’s arms, and looked up.

“Hi Lindsay!” he cried brightly.

Meg had frozen awkwardly. She could tell how this looked, even if Gavin seemed oblivious - and she saw Lindsay’s brief, awkward smile and wave before she retreated out. This close she could feel the warmth radiating from Gavin’s chest.

“They must be done training,” Gavin mused.

“Get off me, asshole,” Meg said - playtime was over and she felt a bit embarrassed about letting herself go like that. Gavin untangled himself and scrambled backwards immediately.   
  
“Sorry,” he said, “Did I hurt you?”  
  
“In your dreams.” She smoothed back her hair and tugged her shirt back into position from where it had fallen awry. Her heart was pounding and she felt unsettled.

_You don’t usually act like that. Fooling around like a little kid. Now, more than ever, you need to focus. Don’t let him distract you._

“Let’s try the spell one more time,” she announced, “I’m gonna make an adjustment.”  
  
Gavin nodded and scooted closer to her again. There was something a little hesitant about it now, but he kept staring at her so trustingly that it made something tingle in her chest, something nervous - like she was holding a fragile baby bird and didn’t quite know what to do with it. It was almost terrifying how _easy_ it was to be around him; it usually took her a long time to build up trust with people. The unanswered questions should only have made her more wary.

But for now she pushed the thoughts away.

_You just want to know,_ she told herself, _he’s an anomaly, a mystery, as groundbreaking as anything else you want to do. If it serves your purpose to stay close until then - what’s the harm?_

 

* * *

 

_You can’t avoid her forever._

Michael knew it was true, but for now - for now, he let himself linger out in the courtyard,  the fresh air and winter cold clearing his head. Eventually he’d have to go in, but he didn’t think he could face being turned down right now. It might be inevitable, but he wanted to avoid the pain and awkwardness as long as he could.

Maybe, he kept thinking, if he could just make sure Lindsay and Gavin were always around, things would be okay. They’d see each other at dinner, probably.

Now he sat on the edge of the fountain, using his knife to whittle away at a block of wood. His movements were pretty aimless but when he turned it over in his hands he noticed it had taken the vague form of a bear, and couldn’t help a small smile when Lindsay’s stupid Bear Man story popped into his head.

Speak of the devil - at that moment the door slammed open, and he leaped up out of instinct, hand flying to his sword in alarm. But it was just Lindsay who ran out, and as Michael relaxed he watched her pace up and down the courtyard angrily, only to freeze awkwardly when she noticed him.

“Uh, hi,” she said.

“Hi?” Michael replied, uncertainly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Lindsay assured him quickly. There was a long, awkward silence.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Michael added. It was true; she’d gone in about twenty minutes ago to figure out where the others went and now her eyes were wide, a strained look on her face. At the words, her face clouded over again.

“It wasn’t a ghost,” she muttered, and Michael raised an eyebrow. She dragged her eyes to meet his almost guiltily, and one corner of her lips gave a wry twist. “Meg and Gavin.”  
  
“Doing what?”

“Rolling around together,” Lindsay said, so awkwardly that she seemed to force every word out between her teeth.

“What, like fucking?” Michael asked, in disbelief. Honestly the thought was inconceivable; the last thing Meg would do was jump the fucking acolyte of Sol. It was so ridiculous as to be borderline hilarious.

“No! Just - play fighting, I guess,” Lindsay said, and looked down, shuffling her feet a little. 

“Wow.” He bit his lip - processing this turn of events. It made his stomach curl a little, made him feel nervous in a way he didn’t like. “That’s - hard to envision.” And then, stupidly, “I take it Meg was winning?”  
  
“It’s not _funny_ ,” she snapped. 

Michael bit his lip. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t send a hot stab of jealousy through his gut. Not to mention, it was fucking uncharacteristic for Meg.

“Why are _you_ all upset about it?” he asked, trying to deflect attention from his own red face. Lindsay looked away, clenching her fists, and Michael added, a little meanly, “You jealous?”  
  
“Shut up!” she grunted, but her protests made it pretty clear. After a moment Michael realised he was being an asshole; he let his own pettiness fade and reached out, taking her arm and tugging her to sit on the edge of the fountain with him. She resisted for a second, but then looked at his face. Whatever she saw there made her sigh and let up, perching on the edge of the stone basin with him. He let go of her wrist but their arms bumped as they settled down to make sure they were balanced right.

“I, uh…” he trailed off, uncertain - but he felt bad about his snide comments and almost _wanted_ to share what’d happened with someone. Now she was looking at him expectantly and he couldn’t exactly backtrack. “I realised the other day that I like Meg. A lot. When I told her, it fucked everything up.”

“Wait, you have feelings for her?” Lindsay demanded.

“Yes,” he spat, flustered, “That’s generally what _liking_ someone means!”  
  
“Not always!” she protested. “And she didn’t feel the same?”

Michael shook his head, looking away miserably.

“Oh dear,” Lindsay managed, and patted him on the arm. “That’s… unfortunate. But you guys seem so close!”  
  
“We are,” Michael grunted. “Well, we _were_. Then I fucked everything.”  
  
“I’m sure you didn’t.”  
  
“Ha, well, you didn’t see the way she was looking at me. I’ve disappointed her. I just - couldn’t help it. She got hurt and I didn’t want anything to happen before I could tell her.”

“You two care about each other,” Lindsay whispered. “You’ve fought by each other’s side. The type of bond that creates - that’s something that’s not easily broken. I’m sure with time any awkwardness will subside. She probably appreciates your honesty, even if things are strained for now.”  
  
She sounded so calm and certain that Michael could almost believe her. Still - it hurt for now, and he rather enjoyed her sympathetic face and the way she was patting his arm.

“What about you?” he asked finally. “You into Gavin, then?”  
  
Lindsay bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair.

“I never really thought about it,” she admitted. “I care about him. We’re closer than anyone else I’ve ever known. He’s the only family I have now. I just - I hadn’t seen him in a while after I left to train in Solaire. I missed him a lot.”  
  
“But you didn’t like the sight of him with Meg.”  
  
“It made me feel bad. I can’t explain why.” She heaved a deep breath, staring up at the wall of the outpost like she could somehow see through stone and brick into the sanatorium. 

“I guess he probably never had any other friends before, right?” Michael pointed out. “Not counting the priests. Just you. So you’re not used to seeing him with anyone else.”

“Maybe,” Lindsay murmured, and clenched her fists, taking a deep breath. “Just - she was _horrible_ to us. You both were. I don’t expect another apology,” she added, when Michael opened his mouth guiltily, “I know we said it was okay. I just - I’m not good at letting things go like Gavin is. I was never able to be as… _at peace_ with the world as he is. Maybe because I didn’t come to the Isle until I was older.”  
  
“That’s a good thing,” Michael pointed out. “Gods know I’m the last person who should tell someone off for having a hot temper. Hell, that’s why he needs you around to keep him safe. You and Meg are real different - trust me, she’s not replacing anything.”  
  
That made Lindsay smile a little.

“Thanks,” she whispered, “And I’m sure you’ll always be important to her, too, no matter what else happens.”  
  
Michael nodded. Their arms brushed again as they fell into a comfortable silence, the trickle of water in the fountain behind them a soothing background noise.

“Gods, this is a mess,” Michael groaned finally, rubbing his hands over his face. “Last thing we need right now, right?”

Lindsay gave a hysterical sort of laugh.

“You were never with anyone else? Before her?”  
  
“No,” Michael admitted, “Not seriously. And you? When you went away?”  
  
She shook her head.

“I was focused on my duty.”  
  
“But your duty’s Gavin, now.”  
  
“I guess so,” she said, and got a funny, thoughtful look on her face. For a second as they sat there, Michael wondered what the hell they were going to do, how this was all going to play out. Right now it all just seemed so tangled up - he could barely imagine how things would be tomorrow, let alone in a week, a month. The jealousy was a bitter taste on the back of his tongue - but with Lindsay next to him, he felt far less alone. And it was nice - having someone else along who felt the same. For a moment he wanted to touch her, an urge he didn’t get often - but he held it back. _Don’t complicate shit even more, idiot._

“Come on,” he said instead, and nudged her with his elbow. “Let’s spar again.”  
  
She jumped up easily, slipped and nearly fell headfirst into the fountain, and Michael had to roll his eyes as he grabbed her arm and steadied her, tutting to himself - already lighter of heart as he picked up his sword and saw her grin wickedly at him as they moved to the centre of the courtyard.


	8. Chapter 8

Michael woke with a jolt from restless dreams.

For a moment he didn’t remember where he was, and for an absurd moment he thought he was on a ship. To be fair, he was in an enclosed wooden space that rocked and swayed, and he could hear water outside. Then he groggily came to, and realised that they were in the caravan, and the storm that’d begun as they left Queenswood had only gotten worse.

He hadn’t meant to doze off. He was sitting on the floor of the caravan, in a crowded space surrounded by sacks of wheat and potatoes and stacks of wooden crates bound together with rope, his back leaning against the wall. His neck hurt from the funny position it had been in. 

“Still storming?” he asked, and beside him Meg shifted. She was sitting cross legged up on one of the crates, a book in hand, and when their eyes met there was a slightly awkward pause before she nodded.  
  
“You were only out like fifteen minutes,” she pointed out, and whatever face Michael pulled made her scoff out a laugh.

That was nice. They weren’t totally broken, then, even if they’d barely spoken last night or this morning. He rubbed his neck, stretching, and rose to peer out the tiny barred window.

The forest rattled past them at breakneck speed, lit by flashes of torches along the road - and flashes of lightning. The rain was pelting down heavily, drumming against the wooden roof so loudly that he could barely hear himself think. It was so bumpy that after a moment he had to sit down again just to avoid falling over; he could feel every jolt and rattle of the uneven road under them.

“Glad we’re not walking,” he grunted.

“I’ll say,” Meg added, with a pointed look across the caravan. Michael followed her gaze. Lindsay sat on a pile of potato sacks, Gavin cradled in her lap with his eyes shut. Michael saw him flinch a little as they went over a particularly hard bump, and Lindsay hugged him a little closer.

“You didn’t knock him out?” Michael demanded. The headache had struck shortly after they left the outpost, another cripplingly bad one that had left Gavin nearly unable to move. It had surprised Michael a little - how much he hated the sight of Gavin whimpering in pain while they stood helplessly by, unable to do a damn thing to stop it. It had reminded him uncomfortably of how he’d felt standing by Meg’s bedside watching the healer work on her. _You should have done better. Protected her. Now you can’t do a gods damned thing._

Meg shook her head.

“I offered, but he didn’t want me to! He doesn’t want to be unconscious when we enter Tork - he’s desperate to see us go into the city.”  
  
“That’s stupid,” Michael said bluntly, “We’re hours away and this weather’s only slowed us down more.”  
  
“Yeah, well. There was no convincing him.” She threw her hands up and pulled a face, but it wasn’t quite as scathing as her looks sometimes were. They fell into another strained silence. Michael watched as Lindsay stroked Gavin’s hair, and felt an upset flicker at how close they were. _Like you and Meg. Except even back before you messed this all up, you would never have dared touch her like that. Afraid she’d take it the wrong way._

_Or maybe not the wrong way after all. Fucking idiot_.

“Bad weather out,” he said finally, when he couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Reckon it’ll snow?”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
“Might have to revise our route. The forest trails are gonna be hell in this weather. It could slow us down too much.”  
  
“True, but it’d be hell for anyone following us too.”  
  
He shrugged. Another long pause. His hands felt shaky and after a moment he groaned and rubbed at his face. He saw Meg look down at him but couldn’t meet her eyes.

“I can’t believe we’re reduced to talking about the _weather_ ,” he said, a bit hysterically. “Fucking hell, _look_ at us.”

“Michael…”  
  
She sounded pained, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. He just hadn’t been able to stand it, had needed to break the tension somehow, even if that meant drawing attention to the elephant in the room.

There was a long, strained pause. After a moment she slipped off the box she’d been sitting on and settled on the floor next to him. Even the close proximity made him nervous in a way he hadn’t ever been in her presence before - too aware of how close her arm was to his, too shy to turn his face to properly look at her.

He heard her swallow hard.

“Look, I-”  
  
“I get it,” he cut in, “It’s fine. No pressure, honestly. I just feel awkward, but I’ll get over it.”  
  
“No, it’s not that,” she said - he turned to her in surprise. She was the one who wouldn’t meet his eyes, now - sat staring down at her hands, twisting anxiously in the folds of her cape. “It was just… a shock. Can we talk about this later, when I’ve… sorted out some things? In the meantime, I’d like to get back to normal.” She reached out, tentatively, and plucked at the edge of his sleeve. “I miss you.”  
  
His heart wrenched. He felt a sudden surge of affection for her, and then another wave of guilt.

“Of course,” he whispered. “Don’t pressure yourself, Meg, honestly.”  
  
“You’re important to me,” she urged, and bit her lip. For a second she looked almost frustrated, like the words she wanted weren’t coming out. “No matter what. What I said before, it… it wasn’t a no, just an _I’m confused_. You follow?”  
  
“I follow,” Michael said - his heart was pounding. _It wasn’t a no. So she’s thinking about it?_

Either way, it felt like the air had cleared between them - he smiled, and when Meg finally met his eyes she smiled back. He dared to inch closer, until their shoulders were pressed together - the contact sent an electric tingle through his whole body, but Meg didn’t pull away. They settled back against the wall as the caravan bumped and rattled over the muddy ground, the rain a soothing, drumming rhythm overhead. Across the room he saw Lindsay watching them - saw her look down at Gavin and stroke his hair, a tender smile on her face, pure affection in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached Tork, Gavin had, it seemed, recovered sufficiently to get up and stare out the window. One contributing factor may have been the swig Michael offered him from his drinking flask. Rum was medicinal, right? Maybe?

Either way, he wasn’t quite sure what Gavin had been hoping for, because Tork was far from spectacular. It was primarily a logging town and a mixture of wooden cabins and grim looking stone buildings opened up from the forest. Beyond the town, in the swarths of cleared land, stretched wheat and vegetable farms. Aside from the high watchtowers at each corner of the city, bearing the pennant of the king of this region, it wasn’t much to look at.

Still - Gavin seemed impressed. He stood on his toes, straining to see out the tiny caravan window, Lindsay jostling for room beside him. He gasped as the city came into view.

“It’s marvellous!”

“It’s really not,” Meg drawled.

“It is! The buildings are so tall compared to what’s on the Isle.” He craned his neck further and Michael knew they must be passing the towers.

“You think that’s tall, wait until you see Ford. Now _that’s_ an impressive city,” Meg said, and Gavin turned to smile at her. His eyes looked almost bruised from pain and lack of sleep, but bright and hopeful under the shadows.

“I hope I can one day! I’d love to see the mountains and the College and all the spell shops.”

For a second, Michael saw something startled and a little guilty flicker in Meg’s eyes. The same feeling, he thought, that he’d been subjected to a few days ago in the forest when he realised just how many things Gavin _hadn’t_ experienced yet in his short, isolated life - how many chances they’d nearly taken away from him.

“After we save the world or whatever we’ll have to take you there,” he said, and liked Gavin’s little laugh and the way his tired eyes crinkled at the edges. He rose and joined them at the window, nudging Gavin gently aside so that he could look out.

The weather had somehow gotten even worse. Rain was lashing down so hard that some of it struck against his face through the bars of the window, and he could barely see the city through the water coming down in sheets. As he watched, they came to a rattling stop at the front gates and he saw the town guards move forward. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from here, but they were yelling to be heard above the storm, and the merchants driving the caravan were yelling back. Frowning, Michael turned away from the window.

“What is it?” Meg demanded, catching his uncertain look instantly.

“I’m not sure. The guards just looked like they had something to say. Get ready to go,” he added, stooping to snatch up his cloak and bag, “We’re nearly there.”

Gavin and Lindsay scrambled to get ready, and Michael checked that he had all his weapons and money. This town wasn’t in Taurin’s territory and by all accounts it should be fairly safe, but they’d had too many close calls for him to feel totally secure.

The caravan pulled to a stop in the market district just off the main road. They got out and helped the merchants unload their cargo. As they did Michael moved to pull the caravan leader aside.

“Trouble with the town guard?” he asked, but the man shook his head.

“Nah, son, not on our part. We got in just in time. The weather’s so bad that they’re shutting the gates until tomorrow.”

“What?” Michael demanded.

“Yeah, sounds like there’s been bandit trouble around these parts, usually during the storms. Gets all foggy and makes it hard to see who’s who out there. So there’s a curfew tonight, no one goes in or out. Lucky we weren’t planning on leaving that soon.”

“ _Shit!”_ Michael hissed, turning away. They’d been planning to grab supplies and get out as soon as possible. Now they were gonna be stuck here a whole day?

He went to the others, grabbing a heavy sack Meg was struggling with and helping her haul it into the barn as he relayed what had gone on.

“Fuck,” she hissed, “I don’t like having to stay here.”

“What’s the problem?” Gavin asked. “Taurin doesn’t know we’re here. The curfew will stop him getting in. It gives us a chance to recover and plan our movements.”

“Trust you to be optimistic,” Meg muttered. “Taurin’s powerful. He’s got eyes everywhere. The last thing we want is to spend too long in _any_ city. The sooner we can get into Gramarye the better.”

“Well, we’ve got no choice! And I don’t fancy the thought of being out in this weather.” He shuddered and pulled his cloak around him. “Even in the wet season I’ve never seen rain like this. I don’t like it much. You can’t see the sun.”

“We can look around the town,” Lindsay said eagerly, and that seemed to perk him up. Michael and Meg exchanged a dubious glance - but he couldn’t help but notice how Gavin’s eyes had lit up.

“After so long in that caravan I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs,” he said slowly, and Gavin’s smile widened. Meg rolled her eyes.

“It won’t hurt to look around a _little_ ,” she conceded, and Gavin made a happy sound, tugging at Lindsay’s arm.

“Can we go up the tower?”

“No!” Meg and Michael cried in unison.

“No, you’re not going up the fucking guard tower. They aren’t tourist attractions,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “But we can check out the shopping district. We’ll need to find an inn for the night, anyhow.”

“I think there are some temples further in,” Meg added, and Lindsay and Gavin smiled at each other. It was hard to stay annoyed when they just seemed so _enthusiastic_. Maybe, Michael thought grudgingly, there was something to be said for trying to see the bright side of things.

Despite the bad weather, the streets were still pretty busy, especially as they headed towards the market area. Most of the walkways were covered by the overhangs of the storefront awnings, so they were at least sheltered from the rain as they wandered through the streets. Gavin gazed at everything in amazement, from the passing horses whose hooves splashed gutter water over them as they clip-clopped down the cobblestone street to the paper lanterns that swung frantically in the wind - the glowing windows of taverns, the furred skins most passersby wore.

The rain finally let up by the time they reached the main market square, though the day remained grey and miserable. They bought hot fresh bread and cups of mulled wine, and stood huddled in a corner eating their lunch.

“You don’t look happy, Meg,” Gavin commented as they ate.

Meg glanced at him. She was squatting on the ground with her hands wrapped around her cup and her hood pulled up, the steam from the wine rising around her face. She was still a little pale from her injury, and Michael frowned a bit in concern.

“Not a fan of Tork?” he asked.

“They’re fucked if there’s a fire, so much is made of wood. The entire place demonstrates a disgusting lack of foresight,” she said, and shook her head. “I’m not unhappy. I’m just worried about being here too long. Gotta stay on the look out.”

Gavin glanced furtively about and nodded, his smile fading a little. It was easy to feel wary on such a tepid, cold day. Maybe there was something about the sun not being out that _was_ affecting them all, Michael didn’t know. He was just glad it’d stopped raining.

They finished eating and Meg wandered off to find them an inn while Michael walked the others around the market. They had just about enough supplies, but it wouldn’t hurt to grab a few more while they were here. It was lunchtime rush hour and the streets were crammed with people - he noticed Gavin clutching Lindsay’s hand tightly, pressed close to her side as they pushed their way through a particularly packed intersection.

“You okay?” he whispered, falling back and leaning in close to Gavin’s ear. He felt the other man jump a little before turning to look at him, their faces just a little too close as the crowds jostled around them.

“I’m fine,” Gavin murmured back. “Actually, I think I’m getting quite used to cities.”

“These are hardly cities!” Michael snorted. “Just let me know if you need a break, okay?”

Gavin’s face softened. For a second Michael felt a bit embarrassed. He had no idea when he’d gone so fucking soft, and kicked himself - but when Gavin reached out and squeezed his arm appreciatively, he couldn’t help that he liked it - and liked the approving smile Lindsay shot him over her shoulder.

The paladin had been oddly quiet since yesterday, and Michael couldn’t help but notice that it’d started when Meg joined the rest of them. Either she was still jealous or somehow Meg was not as easily forgiven as he was. But now that they were alone, she was chatting quite happily to Gavin about pure fucking nonsense - saying some shit about how she’d like to run a shop that sold fried dough like it was some sort of ideal fucking existence.

“-a peaceful life surrounded by bread and sugar!” she was crying.

“Bread and _sugar?”_ Michael demanded. “You think it’s peaceful running a shop? It’s fucking stressful is what it is! Having to serve customers all the time. Always in a rush to get the next order complete-”

“That’s why I’d set up shop somewhere quiet!”

“Yeah, and go out of business within two days. Not to mention, being around boiling oil all the time? That shit stinks, plus it can burn you pretty badly. They keep it in massive cauldrons in the kings’ fortresses to pour over the walls onto their enemies,” he said, and gleefully cackled when Gavin gagged. “Yeah, don’t like the sound of that, do you?”

“Sounds _delicious_ ,” Lindsay shot back, and stuck her tongue out when Michael scowled at her. “ _Smells_ delicious, too.”

“Go buy one then,” he said, rolling his eyes. They were indeed passing the dough stand and even he had to admit that the smell of the hot, fresh sweets and cinnamon sugar were pretty fucking appealing. “You got coin to spare.”

“I will,” she announced and scampered off. It left Michael and Gavin lingering together on the street corner, and Michael looked around only to freeze when he spotted something.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Michael!” Gavin clutched at his sleeve, looking momentarily panicked, but Michael smiled reassuringly as he plucked his hand off.

“Don’t move, I won’t go far! You’ll be fine, just stand here.”

He rushed off towards the stall that had caught his eye. A common sight in most towns - the little roadside religious stand that sold all sorts of paraphernalia for believers, from prayer cards to little statues-

To the gold sun pendants, hanging in a glistening bundle. He stumbled to a halt, reaching out to take one with a hand he realised suddenly was shaking a little. Why did he feel so nervous? Maybe because he knew this meant a lot more than just some silly trinket.

_It won’t replace it. It can’t. That other one was special to him._

But it was a step towards reconciliation - one he knew he had to take - and he heaved a deep breath as he turned to the shopkeeper.

“These blessed?” he grunted. He felt a bit self-conscious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought one of these things; his mother had worn one sometimes, he remembered with a sudden pang of nostalgia. Only on feast days.

“No,” the woman replied, raising an eyebrow. “But the Temple of Sol’s near the south gate and there’s always priests around there. Shouldn’t be hard to get it blessed if you want it.”

“Thanks.” He dropped a coin in her hand and turned back to the street corner. Gavin was standing there with his shoulders hunched up, staring warily at everyone who passed. When Michael returned to his side he practically latched onto him.

“Don’t leave me alone like that!” he gasped.

“What happened to _getting quite used to cities?_ I was literally like two metres away,” Michael replied, and Gavin shook his head.

“There’s too many people around. What were you doing?”

“Buying you a present, you brat,” Michael said, but not angrily. He held up the pendant and Gavin’s eyes widened. He stared for a moment, mouth hanging open, while Michael felt increasingly self-conscious. Then, for a moment, a look of sheer pain crossed Gavin’s face. The heaviness in Michael’s chest only intensified.

“I know it can’t replace your other one,” he said, gruffly. “I- I shouldn’t have burned it. I’m sorry. There were memories tied to that one that you’ll never get back. But you’re off the Isle, now. It’s a new world. Maybe this can be a new start. At the very least, you’ll have one again.”

Gavin didn’t say anything. He was staring at the dangling pendant, and Michael could see tears glistening in his green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again - voice more faltering and soft than he liked - Gavin’s eyes flicked to his and he gave a tearful smile.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

His voice was choked and Michael must have looked a bit horrified, because Gavin scoffed out a hysterical sort of laugh and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Sorry. It just - made me think of the Isle. I... I sometimes forget that it’s all gone now. That when all this is done I won’t have a home to go back to, I won’t be able to sit at the table over tea and tell them all my adventures...” he trailed off, swallowing a choked noise, and Michael felt a lump rise in his own throat. It was stupid - he’d killed more people than he could count, he’d stared death in the eye until it was a familiar friend. But something was different here - the sheer, raw _grief_. “I just - I _miss_ them.”

Michael had no idea what to say, how to comfort him. After a moment he unclasped the necklace and reached out to put it around Gavin’s neck, hooking the clasp back together. The motion brought them so close together that he could feel the warmth from the Flame, could have easily bent his head to touch his forehead to Gavin’s.

He stepped back, reaching to straighten the pendant around Gavin’s neck.

“Make a wish once the sun’s out,” he murmured, a little lamely. “We’ll get it blessed before we leave Tork.”

Gavin gasped a little, staring up at him from under his messy hair.

“We can visit the temple here?”

“Figured you’d want to,” Michael grunted, and Gavin looked at him in a way that suddenly seemed too bright, too intense.

“You’re lovely, Michael,” he said, and moved forward. For some absurd reason, Michael thought he was going to _kiss_ him - but he just flung his arms around Michael’s neck and hugged him tightly, face pressing into the juncture of his shoulder. He could feel the tip of Gavin’s nose - cold despite the Flame in his chest - against his skin, and the other man’s heart hammering where his bony chest was pressed against Michael’s.

Michael’s first instinct was to shove him away, but he swallowed and awkwardly hugged him back. It was - nice. Gavin was very warm. He held the other man close for a moment before they pulled apart, and he tactfully ignored the way Gavin wiped his face and blew his nose.

“Uhhh,” a voice behind them said, and he turned to see Lindsay watching them - clutching a stick of fried dough in each hand, a funny look on her face.

Gavin turned and beamed.

“Look!” he cried, and held up the pendant. The gold looked good against his black scarf, Michael couldn’t help thinking - it seemed to fit him somehow, and he saw Lindsay smile. She glanced at him, grudgingly grateful and happy.

“About time,” she said. “We could do with a few wishes.”

“Right,” Michael said, and managed not to roll his eyes. She passed him one of the sticks of dough and he took it gratefully, watching as she looped her arm through Gavin’s before they headed back down the street, passing the treat back and forth between them.

It was a nice moment - now that the rain had stopped, and Gavin was happy again - but it felt odd without Meg there, and he wished with a pang that she was by his side. All _four_ of them - it all seemed to balance out completely. He couldn’t explain why - and he steered the others in the direction she’d gone, hoping to have the whole group back together again.

 

* * *

 

Meg had found a good inn - close to the south gate of the town, out of the way of the main city areas and not too pricey. Michael still felt nervous as they went to meet her - every time he had to approach her he couldn’t help feeling a faint paranoia that when they made eye contact he’d find her hesitant, or disgusted, or embarrassed - that she’d look at him differently now that she _knew_.

But, as always, her fears were unwarranted; she just beckoned them in to the main pub area and called for more drinks. Michael saw her eyes flicker to the pendant around Gavin’s neck, but she didn’t comment.

“Asked about the Warlord,” she murmured to Michael, as they waited for their drinks, “I think we might actually be in the clear. Sounds like he hasn’t got much influence this far East. He’s got enough trees down South not to have bothered with this town yet.”  
  
“We shouldn’t get careless, but I’m glad to hear it,” Michael replied - a weight felt like it’d lifted off his shoulders, and he took his beer and downed a few gulps of it with a relieved sigh. “Gods, I’ve done nothing all day but sit in a caravan and I’m still exhausted. How’s your injury?”  
  
“I’ll be fine.” She rubbed her stomach absently but seemed distracted by something over his shoulder; Michael turned to find that the other two had abandoned their barstools in favour of investigating the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. Gavin was squatting over it and lifting it up by the ears, saying something enthusiastically, while Lindsay crouched and peered into its gaping mouth.

“Dear gods, they’re gonna get us kicked out of here,” Michael groaned.

“Michael!” Gavin yelled, noticing him watching them. “It’s the brother of your cloak!”  
  
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Michael called back, giving him the finger. “What’s going on over there?”

They turned to look. In the hall just beyond the bar area, the inn workers were setting something up - musical instruments, chairs, long tables covered with various dishes.

“Oh, there’s some town dance on tonight,” Meg said dismissively. “Hopefully it won’t be too noisy and keep us awake.”  
  
“Town dance?” Gavin cried, drifting back over with Lindsay in tow. “We should go.”  
  
“Yes!” Lindsay agreed enthusiastically. “Sounds rowdy. I’m in.”  
  
The look on Meg’s face rather succinctly summed up her thoughts about that plan - but Michael looked at the two grinning faces and tilted his head. Yeah, it seemed stupid on the surface, but honestly what were the odds of it being _dangerous?_

“What’s the harm?” he said slowly. “We need a break I reckon, and where better to blend in than right in plain sight?”

“Michael, come on. It’s ridiculous. We should be focused on the job.”

“We _are_ , but with the curfew we’re stuck here. Might as well make the most of our time.”  
  
Meg frowned - but Gavin sidled close and beamed at her.

“You should join us,” he offered, “It would be fun if we were all there. Plus we can keep an eye on everyone in town in case we see anything _suspicious_.”  
  
“And what exactly would your plan be if you saw someone suspicious?” she asked, with one eyebrow raised.

“Jump out the window and run,” Gavin said seriously, and Meg laughed and turned to Michael.

“You’re made for each other,” she said, and Michael had to snort softly - he looked over at Lindsay, who was frowning again. Not a big, obvious frown, just a little one. Just enough that he knew there was something still playing on her mind.

“It could be fun,” he suggested, and Meg bit her lip. Gavin was giving her what Michael assumed was meant to be some form of puppy dog eyes. He only ended up looking a bit like a frog.

“I bet you’re a good dancer,” Gavin said, and Meg snorted a bit.

“Maybe.” Michael could see her softening. He was a bit surprised, it usually took a while for her to warm up to someone enough to tease with them. “Then again, I was just _stabbed_.”  
  
“Don’t push her if she doesn’t want to go,” Lindsay said, a bit shortly - Gavin turned to her with wide eyes, but before he could say anything, Meg had raised an eyebrow.

“I guess someone needs to keep an eye on you idiots. Especially if you’re drinking.”  
  
Gavin grinned. Lindsay looked away, arms folded.

_Fucking hell._ Michael could see the drama escalating before his eyes. 

“I’m guessing you’ve never been to a dance before,” he said, jumping in quickly, and Gavin turned to him and shook his head. There was something endearing about how excited he looked.

“No, never! Lindsay used to tell me stories about the ones the paladins held while training. Amazing balls and banquets at the academy!”  
  
Lindsay brightened a little and nodded.

“You always said you wanted to see one some day. Now you can!”  
  
“Well, a town dance is hardly the same thing,” Michael said. “But better to ease him in, I guess.”  
  
Gavin looped his arm through Lindsay’s and began talking to her excitedly. As Michael watched, Meg turned to her large flagon and drained the whole thing without stopping. He turned to look at the inn workers as they unfurled a huge, decorative banner, and bit his lip. Things were changing between them in a way he didn’t really know how to handle. He could only hope tonight brought them closer together instead of bringing tensions to a head.

 

* * *

 

Michael loved a good party. Growing up he’d been to more than his fair share of banquets and balls filled with the latest fashions, the finest cuisines and wines that cost more than what most people in Tork would ever be able to afford in their lifetime.

He’d found them boring as a child - until he got old enough to drink. Then, he had fond memories of starting shit with his brothers in the corners of the great hall until their father gave them looks that could kill. Of twirling beautiful, perfumed women in expensive gowns around the dance floor. Of holding lofty conversations with the noblemen he secretly despised, trying to best them in subtle battles of wits. There were a few years when he was old enough to appreciate their wealth but still young and naive enough not to realise the corruption that had brought his family to such stead; they seemed like a dream now, and he looked back at them with a faint kind of disgust, but he’d been _happy_ then, even if it was built on false pretences. He couldn’t deny it.

But he also couldn’t deny that he liked this a lot better.

The town dance couldn’t compare to the grandeur of those balls, but it had a different charm to it. The music was fast and rowdy and got the blood pumping, and the entire inn echoed with laughter and cheer. Men and women downed drinks with no regard for how intoxicated they might be getting, and there was something nice about the gowns and tunics that were adorned with patched hems and homemade decorations. The children that scuttled between the legs of their dancing parents, nicking treats from the buffet table. The entire place was _warm_ , and you didn’t have to care about who might be watching or what you were saying. It had a comfortable ease to it that made it far more fun than any grand ball.

He stood at the bar with Lindsay, drinking it in. Tork might be a shit-hole of a town, but the _people_ seemed to know how to have fun, and after spending so long wandering through the snowy woods he was glad to have a chance to relax. He shut his eyes and let himself enjoy the buzz and hum of too many conversations around him, the smell of beer and nutmeg and roasting meat, the warm air, the occasional thrum of the floorboards under his feet as a hundred pairs of shoes stamped and twirled on it.

“Another?” Lindsay asked, and he opened his eyes to find her holding out another small cup. It was the strongest drink here and they exchanged a small grin before each downing another one.

“Fuck,” Michael hissed. It burned down his throat like a trail of fire.

“Can’t handle it?” Lindsay asked, and he scowled at her.

“Oh, don’t make it a challenge. You won’t like how it turns out.”

“I might have grown up on the Isle but I made up for lost time at the academy,” she shot back, with a toothy grin. “Not to mention the priests indulge now and then. We made our own wine back home. So you might be surprised.”

“Next you’ll be telling me Gavin could drink us both under the table,” Michael grumbled, and she threw back her head and laughed.

“Have you seen him? He’s a fucking light weight.” She beckoned the bartender over, sliding him a pile of coin. Three more little cups were set before each of them; they downed them easily, one, two, three. Michael slammed the last one down and took a moment to gather himself. He was breathing heavily and he felt too warm even without his cloak. He rolled his sleeves up - everything had a happy sort of glow, and his head felt light and fuzzy. He turned to find Lindsay beaming at him, and for a second was struck by how pretty she looked with her hair down, hanging around her face and wavy from where it’d been braided before. It was warm enough in here that she was wearing a short-sleeved tunic, and as she reached to stack up their finished cups he saw the strong muscles of her arms flex, defined from years of training. He bit his lip, turning to look out at the hall floor to distract himself.

Couples stamped and twirled to the fast-paced jig the band was playing, the flashing colours of their gowns almost dizzying. He blinked, trying to clear his head as he looked around for Meg. He’d seen her come down from her room, but not again since then.

“Where’s Gavin?” Lindsay breathed in his ear suddenly, making him jump. He turned and her face was so close to his that their noses nearly bumped against each other. A crowd had come up to the bar, jostling them closer to each other.

“Dunno, haven’t seen him.”

“My Gavin senses are ringing alarm bells!”

“As if,” Michael snorted, “You’re just drunk.”

“No, I’m serious. He usually doesn’t get too far from me. And with all these people around...” she trailed off and Michael felt worry stir in his own chest. He remembered how Gavin stuck close to Lindsay’s side in the streets - if the market was too overwhelming from him, this was bound to be even worse, and he felt himself sober a little as he moved away from the bar with Lindsay close by his side.

“He’s probably just in a corner somewhere, too shy to dance,” Michael muttered, but Lindsay frowned, pushing her way through the masses of people trying to go and get drinks. Michael followed her and as they looked around, his eyes fell on a familiar green shirt and his stomach sank.

Gavin was, indeed, hiding in a corner. The innkeeper’s cat was hiding under a chair and he seemed to have been trying to coax it out. But now he was backed up against the wall, a pained sort of smile on his face, and a burly, red-faced man getting up in his personal space.

Even from here Michael could tell what was going on; the guy was pulling at Gavin’s hands, trying to get him to the dance floor - a leer on his face as he leaned in so close that Gavin must have been able to feel his breath. He could see how strained Gavin’s smile was, could tell he was trying to squirm away - but the guy was getting handsy, one hand wrapping around his waist and trying to tug him away from the wall.

“Son of a bitch,” Michael hissed - beside him, Lindsay’s face was pale with rage. She charged forward, Michael following too, his blood boiling in a way it hadn’t in a while. He was protective of Meg, of course, but she could usually hold her own. But something, now, was building up in his own chest. Gavin was just so naive - and even from here, Michael could see how desperately he was trying to be polite, not pushing at the man or yelling at him to back off - it was easy to want to take care of him.

They were a few paces away when Meg swooped in first - seeming to appear from thin air as she materialised from the crowds and grabbed the guy by the shoulder, spinning him around with deceptive strength.

“Hey, asshole,” Michael heard her snap, “He doesn’t want to dance with you.”

The sheer malice in her voice made Michael do a double take. They reached her side but she didn’t turn, scowling up at the guy even if he was about two heads taller than her.

“Didn’t realise it was any of your business, sweetheart,” he drawled - gods, he was fucking drunk, Michael could hear it in his voice and see it in his slightly vacant expression - but not, it seemed, drunk enough to quite be immune to Meg’s deadly glare.

“Don’t _sweetheart_ me unless you want to lose that thick tongue of yours.” She rested a hand on her belt, just enough to show the sharp digger glinting between the folds of her dress. “I’m not feeling particularly patient tonight, so I suggest you fuck off before I really lose my temper.”

The man’s glazed eyes drifted over her shoulder to where Michael and Lindsay were scowling at him, too - then back to Gavin, who stood pressed against the wall staring at Meg with a slightly awed look. With an indistinguishable mumble, he wandered off into the crowds, and Gavin’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Are you okay?” Lindsay had rushed to his side instantly, and Meg turned and paused a little awkwardly. Michael had seen her at the beginning of the evening, but only briefly, and for a second his breath caught a little. Her hair was pulled back from her face in an intricate braid, and she was wearing a deep blue dress with silver embroidery that reminded him of the shimmering night sky. He’d seen her dressed for a night out before, but somehow, tonight - now that his feelings were a slap in the face he couldn’t ignore - it was enough to take him aback.

He saw her eyes meet his and hoped he didn’t look like as much of a stunned mullet as he felt. A second later her attention turned back to Gavin, who was nodding and leaning into the concerned hand Lindsay had pressed to his cheek.

“I’m fine! Just got a bit stuck.” He gave a weak smile. “I didn’t want to be rude or start a fight or anything.”

“You don’t gotta be polite to people like that, stupid,” Michael snapped. “He deserved a fist in the face and nothing less.”

“I couldn’t do _that,”_ Gavin murmured, “I don’t fight. I just spontaneously flash people with big bursts of light! But thanks, Meg,” he added, “I’m glad you handled it.”

“It was nothing,” she muttered, hunching her shoulders, looking almost _embarrassed_. “I’ve dealt with my share of assholes. They’re all the same. There’s no reasoning with men like that, especially when they’ve had a few.”

“Want to leave?” Lindsay offered, but Gavin shook his head.

“No, I’m fine.” He took a deep breath and straightened up, and his smile this time was more genuine. “The night’s barely started! We haven’t danced yet, that’s the whole point of this thing. It looks like fun.”

Michael bit his lip, glancing at Meg again. He wanted to dance with her - wanted to spin her around the dance floor like all the other couples he could see, wanted to see if they could move as easily together in joy as they could in the middle of a fight.

_Don’t be an idiot. That’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard. You want to make things even worse? Put her in an even more awkward position? She said she wants space to figure this out_.

Kicking himself for even thinking about it, he reached out and offered Gavin his hand instead, as he was pretty sure that if _Meg_ took him to dance then Lindsay might just spontaneously combust.

“C’mon, let me show you how it’s done,” he said. “I’ve been to my share of balls.”

“How fancy,” Gavin said gleefully, and took his hand, letting Michael tug him into the whirling bodies. “My charming Prince Michael!”

“Don’t start,” Michael groaned, but it was hard to be pissed when Gavin was smiling so widely. He manhandled him into position and rested one hand on his waist, their fingers locked together as they started up a jig. Gavin stumbled but quickly caught on - but he kept stepping on Michael’s toes, so churlishly that Michael got the impression he was doing it deliberately. After a few minutes of saying “fuck!” every two seconds and managing to bunce several people off the dance floor with their erratic movements, he looked up to find Gavin staring at him.

“You’re being terrible deliberately,” Michael accused, and Gavin’s eyes glinted. “Fucking hell, seriously?”

Gavin laughed, mischievously, and Michael could only stare.

“Thought you were meant to be nice,” he said, a bit gobsmacked.

“I _am_ nice.” He slowed down as the music did, falling into something a bit more rhythmic, finally managing to sync up his movements with Michael’s. “I was just a bit annoyed.”

“What, with _me?”_

“A little.” Gavin bit his lip, and for a moment Michael thought he was going to fall silent again, but he squeezed Gavin’s hand.

“The hell did I do?” he asked, but not as aggressively as he might once have. Gavin needed to stick up for himself a bit, after all, and the last thing Michael wanted was to be the bad guy again.

“The way you were looking at me back there. Both you and Meg have been doing it all day. You know I’m not actually a child, and I’m not _stupid_.”

Michael stared. He realised with a pang of guilt that they sort of had been babying him - that in his mind Gavin had fallen into a weird childlike space where he assumed the other man couldn’t go two seconds without adult supervision. It was hard not to, when he was so naive - so easily impressed by everything around him.

“Anyone would look stupid if they were plonked in the middle of a culture they knew nothing about,” Gavin continued. “I’m actually very smart, you know. I can climb trees and fish with the best of them. I’m a damn good sailor. I know all about the weather, and every religion on the continent, and the history of the priesthood of Sol. I’ve read a lot about magic. Yes, this is all new to me - but I’m not an _idiot_ , even if I find it scary sometimes.”

“I know,” Michael said, and rubbed Gavin’s side reassuringly when the other man looked away, seeming a bit embarrassed by his outburst. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realise I was doing it. And I didn’t mean it back there, when I called you stupid. I was just worried about you. I can be - abrasive. It takes a bit to get used to.”

“Lindsay’s not stupid either,” Gavin added, a bit defensively, “We just have a different way of seeing things.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t say this to be mean,” Gavin added hurriedly, but Michael reached out and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Hey, don’t start with that. It’s good to stand up for yourself. You’re right. I’m sorry,” he repeated, and Gavin gave a relieved smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, graciously, “I forgive you.”

There was something about the gentle look on his face that made the words feel - nice. Or maybe Michael was just real fucking drunk, but it felt so earnest. Felt almost like a blessing. He pulled Gavin to a less crowded space on the floor and they kept dancing, finding an easy rhythm together. Gavin was light on his feet and his hand on Michael’s shoulder was very warm. For a moment as he stared into Gavin’s green eyes, it felt a little too intimate - a little too light and easy to lose himself.

He felt like a different person somehow, around him - the same way he did around Meg. Not always angry, not always having to prove himself. But like it was okay to smile and fall quiet for a while.

_He has nice eyes_ , he thought - and in the firelight with the shadows of dancing bodies falling across his face, it was hard not to realise how attractive Gavin was. He’d shaved since the outpost, and his fine features and defined jawline were storybook perfect. It had been strange before to find him attractive - there was something too innocent about him that would have felt like hitting on one of the priests of Sol - but Gavin wasn’t a priest, and he wasn’t a child, and looking at him now Michael suddenly saw him in a different light. Not the bumbling idiot who’d never been to the mainland before but someone who, as Lindsay had said, was stronger than anyone ever thought.

_The chosen one_.

Gavin didn’t have his scarf on and Michael could see the gold necklace glinting around his throat. He smiled a little and tugged Gavin closer - the other man made a muffled noise of surprise, but it quickly turned into a pleased sound. He rested his head against Michael’s shoulder and they rocked together for a moment as the music slowed, feet shuffling in an easy rhythm. He felt some of the tension fall from Gavin’s body - hoped that for tonight, at least, he could enjoy himself - could forget his duty and his pain, could just experience the joys of the world around them. If Michael could help with that, he wanted to. He owed him that at least.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, Lindsay was drunk, she wasn’t _quite_ sure how she’d ended up as the ringleader of a hoard of rowdy young adolescent girls leading a stampede around the dance floor that included knocking over three candles and starting a small fire.

_Not her fault_ , by the way. Open candles in a building made of wood in the middle of a drunken party? It was _asking_ for trouble.

Anyway. They’d put it out before too many people noticed, but she’d had to hurriedly disband her dance troupe and send them furtively off in all directions.

“Divide! Scatter! They’ll never catch us!” she hissed, words slurring just a little, and watched like a proud mama hen as they slipped away into the frenzy like colourful flowers scattering in the wind.

“The fuck are you doing?” a voice behind her drawled, and she whipped around to find Meg sitting on a chair by the side of the room, watching her with a singularly unimpressed raised eyebrow. The innkeeper’s cat was in her lap and she was idly scratching its ears.

Lindsay’s brain short-circuited for a second, because _cat_. Then she registered it was _Meg_ , and the pleasant state of bevved relaxation she’d fallen into was replaced by a wave of annoyance.

Look, it wasn’t that she _disliked_ the other woman, it was-

Okay, she disliked the other woman. It was perfectly fine for _Gavin_ \- he’d been stuck with Michael most of this trip. He hadn’t been subjected to Meg’s coldness. And Lindsay had thought…

Well, she’d thought Meg trusted her, at least a little. She’d told Lindsay about her past, hadn’t she? In that moment… they’d shared something, and she’d thought - hoped - it _meant_ something.

But since then, Meg had been churlish, had snapped at her like _she_ was the failure around here - had swept in all condescending as though until she and Michael came along, Lindsay had just been some bumbling idiot who couldn’t take care of Gavin. Like they should feel so fucking _lucky_ to have their help. Like they weren’t the ones who’d fucked them over by agreeing to work for Taurin in the first damn place.

Michael wasn’t as bad. She _liked_ Michael - he’d agreed to help them first - but Meg made her stomach feel all tight and everything seem to rub raw against her nerves. Maybe she _was_ jealous - so what? It was a perfectly human emotion, thank you very much!

Jealous of how Gavin stared at her in awe - or jealous of how easily he’d seemed to win Meg’s affection? Or of how Michael-

_No._

She shook herself, and realised Meg was staring at her. That she was standing there like a drunken idiot. Her cheeks flamed.

“Sorry. Deep in thought.”

“Didn’t realise you were capable.” It seemed to slip out of her pretty lips almost automatically, and Lindsay’s annoyance swelled.

“Fuck you.” She threw herself in the chair next to Meg and stole the cat, plonking it in her own lap. “You mages are real up yourselves, you know that?”  
  
She didn’t mean it as soon as she said it, but she saw Meg stiffen and felt bad immediately. Then felt annoyed about feeling bad because _technically_ she’d been insulted first, hadn’t she? There was a frozen, awkward pause.

“Nothing to do with being a mage, paladin,” Meg replied tightly, but didn’t push it further. Lindsay clenched her jaw and looked away. They sat in silence for a little while and when Lindsay saw Meg looking to the side of the room, she followed her gaze to where Michael and Gavin were dancing with one another. She couldn’t help her fond smile - Gavin looked happy and relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen him for too long, and there was a warm look on Michael’s face as he gazed at him. For a moment Lindsay felt like she was seeing beneath the surface; she’d seen Michael’s affection for Meg but other than that he always seemed so angry and callous - but not here, not now. Seeing him look at Gavin she knew suddenly and acutely that this was a man capable of more love than most.

Meg shifted and Lindsay glanced at her again. There was an almost longing look on her face.

“Looks like they’re having fun,” she said stiffly.

“Do you and Michael usually dance?” Lindsay couldn’t help asking, and saw Meg bite her lip.

“We used to. Not that we go to dances very often.”

“He told me he confessed his feelings to you,” Lindsay blurted out, and Meg turned to her with wide eyes, for a second knocked off balance. A confused, then almost suspicious look crossed her face.

“I see,” she said stiffly. “Well. Then you know why it would be a bad idea to lead him on.”  
  
“It’s just a dance,” Lindsay pointed out quietly. “Friends dance. If he hadn’t whisked Gavin away I’d be the one twirling him around out there.”  
  
“Maybe. But sometimes little things mean too much. Especially things like this. I wouldn’t have _minded_ dancing with him.” Meg picked at her skirt, for a moment looking too vulnerable. “Hell, if he’d asked I would have said yes. But it would have been a bad idea, I- I’m still not _sure_.”

Lindsay nodded. Despite her beef with the other woman, she couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for her. It was a complicated situation and one Lindsay didn’t envy.

“I don’t know why I’m telling _you_ all this,” Meg added, glancing at her. “Besides, on a job this important the last thing we need is personal drama.”  
  
“Tonight there’s nothing we can do about Taurin or the Isle,” Lindsay pointed out. “It’s been a rough month for Gavin and I. I think we needed this break. I’m glad to see him enjoying himself. I’m surprised you haven’t found another partner, surely you should be inundated with offers.”  
  
“Big word, paladin-”  
  
“I’m not an _idiot,”_ Lindsay snapped, and saw Meg do a double take at her harsh tone. “I love to read. Just because I believe in Sol doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Any more than using magic makes _you_ soft.”  
  
Meg seemed taken aback.

“You’re right,” she said finally, and sighed. “Sorry. I’m not in the best mood today. And yes, I’ve had a few offers, but none I was inclined to accept. Men are pigs,” she added shortly, “Most only want one thing. And women can be just as bad. It’s hard in this world to find people who aren’t just out to take whatever they can get from you. I’m guilty of it myself at times.”  
  
“Michael’s not like that,” Lindsay managed.

“No.” Something flickered in Meg’s eyes. “He’s not.”  
  
Another silence. She watched Michael spin Gavin around, tip him back. Wondered what it would be like to careen around with him like they had when they were kids. Or how it would feel to be the one in Michael’s arms, held so carefully.

“You seemed to be having fun with those girls before,” Meg spoke up suddenly, and Lindsay smiled a bit.

“I like to dance. And I’m good with children.”  
  
“You should get back out there,” Meg said. “I’m sure you’ll find plenty of willing partners. You’re an attractive woman, Lindsay. Go have some fun for the night. Gavin’s in good hands over there.”  
  
Lindsay couldn’t help her blush. Maybe because Meg was so effortlessly gorgeous herself - maybe because she didn’t sound mocking at all. It had been a while since someone complimented her like that.

Her annoyance faded; for a moment sympathy surged in her blood instead. Despite how much she wanted to hold on to her resentment - there was too much of the Isle and the way in her. At the end of the day she wanted to smooth things over, not make another enemy.

“You should have fun too.” She put the cat down and rose from her chair, holding out a hand. “Come on.”  
  
Meg blinked a few times, staring up at her.

“You dislike me,” she said flatly. “It’s clear to anyone. Why would you want to dance?”  
  
“You can’t sit here alone all night! Like it or not, we’re a team now. We should stick together.”  
  
Meg’s lips twitched, just a little.

“By dancing?” she asked.

“We’ll dance our way to Ramsey!” Lindsay cried. “At the very least, it’ll stop others bothering you.”

Meg scoffed. She looked torn - something keeping her reluctant that Lindsay couldn’t quite place, and she worried her offer would be rejected, that once again she’d have humiliatingly misjudged just how much the other woman actually liked her - but after a moment she thought _fuck it_ and started to dance on the spot, too drunk to be self-conscious.

“I’ll dance in front of you ‘til you join me!” she declared, doing a particularly complicated jig that involved kicking her legs up as high as they could go. Meg nearly got a boot to the face and reared back with a startled laugh.

“Dear gods, stop! You’re embarrassing me!” she said, and covered her face with her hands. Lindsay fancied her cheeks were a little red, but it might have been the lighting in here.

“Come on, come on!” she urged, and reached out to tug at Meg’s arm. If she hadn’t had those drinks she probably wouldn’t have dared - but to her surprise, Meg just sighed and got up.

“Alright, I’m coming!”  
  
Lindsay grinned, more pleased than she would have expected. She whirled the other woman onto the dance floor and after a few moments of shuffling her feet Meg put a hand on her shoulder and began to sway with her. Lindsay didn’t think too hard about it, let herself get lost in the warmth of the fire and the bodies around them, the beat of the music. It was a nice night and good company and she could see the girls she’d been dancing with earlier watching her from around the room, shooting her grins and winks. She looked away, oddly flustered.

Meg’s grip was tight in hers, her hands calloused from years of handling weapons. She felt small and delicate in Lindsay’s arms, but strong at the same time, and Lindsay had no doubt she had a core of steel. They didn’t speak - she was glad, she thought she’d probably make a fool of herself - but Meg wasn’t dragging her feet, and Lindsay let herself fall into an easy rhythm as they drifted along the dance floor, her gaze settling on Meg’s fine features, how beautiful her dark hair looked in the firelight.

She caught a glimpse of the boys passing them at once point, and had the vague, passing thought that she would’ve liked to dance with them, too. But it floated away; she was fine with this for now.

_What are you doing?_ She barely knew herself half the time, and she had no clue what would come of this, but she could only hope that maybe it was a step towards fixing things - fixing _them_ \- that this trip North wouldn’t be painful, that somehow they might all manage to come together, one way or another.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Meg noticed when she woke up was that she must have drunk _far_ more last night than she ever intended, because she was hungover as all hell and honestly couldn’t quite remember exactly how the night had finished.

She groaned as she rolled over. The room was so warm she felt almost feverish, and she kicked away the quilt tangled around her and rolled out of bed, leaning over to bury her face in her hands as her head throbbed indignantly.

_Fucking hell, how much did I drink?_

_So much for being the one to keep the rest of those idiots in line_.

Everything was sort of _pounding_ , and she swallowed a few times. She realised why the room was so hot; the window was shut and the fire hadn’t died down in the night - she figured, now, she must have lit it with a magic spark, which tended to last longer. Feeling sweaty and dishevelled, she lumbered over to the washroom and poured a basin full of water.

The last thing she remembered was dancing with Lindsay. Everything after that was a blur, but she had a vague memory of Lindsay going to find the boys and herself going to bed early. She assumed everyone had managed to stay relatively under control and gotten back to their rooms okay.

Rinsing out her mouth, she washed her face and then looked up at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t help her grimace at the sight of her own reflection.

“Sol, I look like shit,” she muttered, making a futile attempt to run her hands through her hair. Her face was sallow and her eyes had purple smudges around them. She looked as hungover as she felt, and tired beyond belief, and her hair was standing up in all directions. With her dress from last night unfastened and hanging off one shoulder, she was a complete mess - there was no kind way of putting it.

For a second the odd thought hit her - _Michael loves you. Loves this._

_What does he see?_

_A runt,_ she thought hatefully, a stupid, scrawny little fuck with tangled hair who drank too much, hated too much, who fought with sorcery and black magic. That’s what they’d all called her, wasn’t it? And he saw her. And he _wanted_ her.

Perhaps that was what was so frightening. She’d only been in one relationship before, and that was with another mage. The ending had been ugly. Penelope had been scared of Jeremy and she hadn’t been able to understand why Meg sided with him when he left. It was a bad time for all of them - her two closest friends at odds with one another, herself caught in the middle. It had made her cold for a long time afterwards.

She didn’t think she’d ever loved many people. Even what she had with Penelope - she wasn’t sure how deep the feelings had lain. She’d always felt there was something a little damaged in her, something that wasn’t quite sure how to get _close_ to people - to look beyond her own insecurities.

_He loves you._

_He says he does. He_ thinks _he does. What if he’s just confused because you spend so much time together, because you travel so often that you’re the only person he sees on a regular basis?_

_And how do you feel about him?_

Michael - with his warm smile and strong arms. She’d seen him at his worst - when he was a weak and whiny nobleman, when he was covered in the blood and sweat of battle, when he was hungover as shit with ugly stubble (incapable of growing a beard even after three days of not shaving). She’d nursed him through sickness and injury and rubbed his back as he puked his guts up. He’d done the same for her. They were closer than most any other two people would ever be.

Was that love? Could it _become_ love?

For all her brains and prowess she felt suddenly very out of her depth, and shook herself crossly. It was way too early in the morning and she was _way_ too tired and hungover to be dwelling on that sort of shit. She grabbed her hairbrush and turned away to get dressed.

 

* * *

 

When she was back in her armour and with her errant hair pulled back in a tight braid, Meg felt much more human. She left the room determined to run some early errands, only to pause right outside the door.

Lindsay was sitting on the floor in the hallway, slumped against the wall. She looked up and squinted dazedly at Meg when she emerged.

“Good morning,” she croaked, and Meg scoffed.

“Fucking hell, you look like shit. Shit that’s been run over three times by a cart.” She walked over to Lindsay and stared bemusedly down at her, hands planted on her hips. She was dressed and had her sword on her belt, but her eyes were red and her pace puffy from a night that must have gone on far too late and with far too much alcohol involved. “What are you on the floor for?”

“Got up and was gonna go check on the boys. Then second guessed it. Felt sick so I sat down. Gods, I’m hungover.” She rubbed miserably at her eyes. There was something upset about her face and Meg wondered what had happened last night after she went to bed, but the hallway wasn’t the place for it.

“Knowing Michael, he won’t be up for a few more hours. Gavin could probably use the sleep, too.” She paused - she’d been about to leave Lindsay and stalk on to continue her plans for the day, but she remembered the other woman standing in front of her, offering her hand. Remembered the stupid jig she’d danced with the mischievous grin on her face and how it _had_ been fun to get out on the floor together.

She hadn’t had to offer. Hell, it’d been more than Meg deserved.

“I was about to go to the market,” she offered, a little grudgingly, “Get some breakfast and also look for a particular book that I want. You can come with me if you’re hungry or want to get out of here.”

Lindsay perked up a bit and nodded. She scrambled to her feet, swaying a little, and steadied herself against the wall.

“My head’s spinning,” she complained, and Meg had to laugh.

“How much did you drink?” she asked, as they headed for the stairs.

“Gods, I lost count. After you went to bed I got so drunk I blacked out on the bearskin rug. I woke up there just past dawn and managed to get back to my room. Quite a few people were laying about down in the inn.”

“Holy shit.” Meg wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed, disgusted or impressed. “You can really put them away.”

“When I’m in the mood for it.” Lindsay fidgeted again, glancing at Meg and opening her mouth - but seemed to think better of it. Meg struggled not to raise an eyebrow, curious what was on her mind, but again opted not to push. Not just yet, at least.

They paused to grab breakfast and then headed out for the magic quarter of the market. It was quite early in the morning and after her hot room and the hangover it was pleasant to be out in the bracing, crisp winter air. Nothing sobered her up as quickly as weather like this - or a hot cup of tea and a freshly baked pastry.

The silence soon turned almost companionable, and Meg found she didn’t mind strolling along beside the other woman, their arms brushing occasionally. The streets were mostly full of vendors setting up their stalls or loggers heading out to the forest for their day’s work, and it was nice not to be completely alone.

“So what happened last night after I left the dance?” Meg asked, when she felt sufficiently recovered to begin dealing with drama. 

Lindsay pulled a face so pained that it was bordering on constipated.

“Oh, gods,” she groaned. “What _didn’t_ happen, that’s the question.”  
  
“Please don’t tell me you managed to set another fire,” Meg said, and Lindsay looked a bit guilty.

“Well, I did get banned from going near the candles at one point - and the cat went missing and everyone had to look for it and then it turned out it was still in the hall the entire time - and some old guy got too drunk and started taking all his clothes off, and two farmers challenged each other to a duel, and Michael tried to wear the bearskin rug as a cloak-”  
  
“Fucking hell.”  
  
“And in the midst of all the commotion,” Lindsay wailed, “Gavin went off with some girl!”  
  
“Wait, what?” They came to a stop in the middle of the street and Meg turned towards her. Lindsay didn’t meet her eyes, jaw set tight as she looked off to the side. “What girl?”  
  
“I don’t know, some town girl. I saw them dancing together and then next thing I knew they were headed off upstairs together.”  
  
“You didn’t follow them?” Meg asked.

“Why would I follow them? He can do what he likes.” The bite in her voice, though, led Meg to suspect that it was about that time of the evening when the ‘get blackout drunk’ part had occurred. "She was very beautiful. She had the prettiest hair I'd ever seen, dark and curly. I would've gone off with her myself given the chance."

She sounded far too defensive to be believed, and Meg had to laugh.

"Sounds like baby bird's finally left the nest," she said - she had to admit, it was an absurd thought. After all, Gavin was a grown-ass man but there was something so innocent about him. Getting laid at the town dance had been the last thing she expected. "Good for him, I guess."

"I guess," Lindsay grumbled, and Meg had to nudge her as they started walking again.

"You don't sound too happy. I thought you said you weren't together."

"We're not," Lindsay snapped.

"Not yet, at least. You into him?" Perhaps it was a brazen thing to ask, but the way Lindsay's face clouded over and she looked away was answer enough. "I mean, it sounds like you are. Are you going to tell him?"

"Are you happy that Michael told you?" Lindsay fired back, and Meg's mouth snapped shut. She looked away.

Gods, was she? It had changed everything. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, none of this awkwardness would be there.

But at the same time... the thought of him holding it in, of things festering away inside, of not having this knowledge - she wasn't sure if she was glad about it or not. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, what conclusion she'd manage to reach. She fell silent and heard Lindsay let out a breath beside her.

_She hates you._

The thought came to her suddenly. _She hates you just like most people do. Fair enough, you were a bitch to her back at the start of all this. You would've handed her to Taurin without a second thought. Anyone would hate you for that._

_She doesn't understand you - doesn't understand the way things are in this world when you're not raised on some sort of happy clappy island._

_Who cares what she thinks? You certainly don't._

But it was disconcerting, and she didn't like the silence. Even Lindsay seemed unimpressed; her glare had faded and she kept giving Meg little sidelong glances.

"Was it his first?" Meg asked abruptly after a moment, because it seemed like Lindsay wanted to talk and she couldn't think of much else to say. She saw Lindsay blink a few times, then look almost embarrassed.

"There was no one our age on the Isle," she said quietly. "So yes, it - it would've been. He hasn't ever had feelings for someone as far as I know."

"Don't need feelings to fuck someone," Meg said brusquely - she saw Lindsay flinch - "What about you? At the Paladin's Academy?"

"There were a few girls I... I admired a great deal." Her cheeks were red again. "But nothing properly developed between us. And you?"

"I had a girlfriend at the Mages' College," Meg found herself admitting. "Things ended poorly. And Michael's never had a proper relationship either, not one that lasted."

"It must be hard in your life. Constantly on the move. I suppose it was the same for Gavin and I. I used to dream about it, as a girl. One of those adult things you think will be a lot nicer than it probably actually is. There's a lot of stuff we dreamed about." She scuffed a boot along the ground. "Owning a house. Owning a _horse_ \- that was a big one. Going on holiday. Then one day we just had to give it all up. Had to grow up. Realised our destinies were bigger than ourselves."

"That's bullshit," Meg said. "You're the captain of your own destiny."

"Maybe I am," Lindsay admitted, "But not Gavin. He's the only person who can carry the Flame. He has to do this. No one else is capable."

"That sucks."

"He doesn't mind, though," Lindsay began, but a sudden hot flash of annoyance hit Meg. Not towards Lindsay, but for her - and for Gavin.

"He might say he doesn't mind. He must _think_ he doesn't mind. But one day he's going to. One day he's gonna realise how fucking unfair it is to have been trapped on an island for his entire adolescent life, not experiencing any of the shit that a normal person would, not having a choice about what he wants to do."

"Sol sent him here for a reason," Lindsay argued.

"I'm just saying." Meg threw her hands up. "It wasn't fair on either of you. Maybe I'm just selfish but I've never taken kindly to people telling me what I should or shouldn't do. Even if that someone is the god of light."

"There are times when you have to think about whether your personal happiness is worth the lives of everyone else around you," Lindsay said, firmly, "And whether it's worth sacrificing your own contentment to do the right thing."

"Maybe it's easy for you," Meg replied, "But a lot of people wouldn't do the same if it was your life on the line."

"It doesn't matter what others would do. All that matters are your own choices. Gavin understands that. It's why he stayed on the Isle. We tried to leave once," she added, "But he wouldn't go, in the end."

Meg stared at her. That was an unexpected part of the story, and she almost wanted to push for more answers - but they'd reached the market, and she turned her attention back to the task at hand.

 

* * *

 

“What is that?” Lindsay asked.

Meg walked out of the shop and looked down at the two thick volumes she was carrying. They’d be heavy to lug all the way up north, but it was worth it. Some people got uncomfortable around magic, but Lindsay didn’t seem fazed by the narrow street she’d been left to wait in - by the smell of incense and burning herbs, the shop windows crammed with charms and potion bottles. There was nothing on her face but a faint curiosity.

“Books,” she replied.

“I can see that,” Lindsay drawled. “Why buy them now?”  
  
Meg hefted the heavy load under her arm.

“One’s on mana,” she explained, “And the other’s on the history of magical artefacts. I want to try and figure out exactly what’s going on with Gavin and the Flame. Don’t you start,” she added, when Lindsay opened her mouth, “I don’t care if you think it’s just Sol’s mighty breath or however the fuck the story goes. I want a tangible explanation.”  
  
“What’s mana got to do with it?” Lindsay asked instead.

“I was testing the other day and realised Gavin has none. Which is _impossible_ ,” she cried, still rather frustrated about that, “So clearly something’s wrong here!”  
  
“Oh, right,” Lindsay murmured. “The other day.”  
  
Meg abruptly remembered how she had walked in - remembered how it had looked. She felt a flush of embarrassment, and wasn’t quite sure why. It was silly - she should never have let herself go like that, but she couldn’t help it. He was just so easy to get along with.

The way Lindsay was eying her now, she could tell what the other woman was thinking. _Just another reason to hate you._

“If you do find you like Gavin,” she said, slowly, “You should tell him, because he’s sure not gonna make the first move. He cares about you very much.”  
  
Lindsay looked pained.

“You can care about someone and not love them,” she replied. “Like you do to Michael.”  
  
_I do love him._ It was on the tip of her tongue, just to be contrary - and a second later because she realised that yes, she _did_ \- she just didn’t know in what way.

“Besides,” Lindsay continued, a bit hysterically, “I hardly know myself! It’s just _confusing_ \- leave me to my own business.”  
  
“Just offering an outside opinion,” Meg replied, amiably. “Come on, let’s check if the back gate is open yet. I wanna get out of here as soon as possible.”  
  
Lindsay didn’t argue, and they set off again. Meg was starting to realise, with rather a sinking feeling, that it was not very nice to fight all the time. It had been nice to dance together - to have that sense of camaraderie last night. She just didn’t know how to maintain it. Around Lindsay she seemed to be all sharp edges.

_It’s your own fault, anyway. You just can’t stop pushing, can you? Can’t stop ruining things for yourself even if you_ know _you’ve no reason to._

As the sun rose higher, the streets were growing more crowded - and a rush of people heading down the road towards them made it pretty clear that the gates might just have opened. They reached the back square at the far end of town, and sure enough, colourful merchants’ caravans were making their way past the guards, shopkeepers scuttling to get the deliveries that had been held up by the store.

It was a nice sight - but Meg couldn’t help the prickle of apprehension that ran down her spine. Everyone’s eyes seemed to hold menace, anyone could be a threat with Taurin about. It left her paranoid in a way she didn’t like - she missed the times when _she_ was the eye in the darkness, the threat that others feared.

_Lindsay and Gavin have been living with this for weeks,_ she reminded herself - and yet, as she glanced at her companion, the other woman seemed impressively calm and happy. Was it stupidity or strength to stand in the face of danger with a smile?

“Oh, shit,” she hissed suddenly, as her eyes fell upon a group nearby.

“What?” Lindsay demanded, but before she could turn and look Meg had seized her arm.

“Get back!” 

She dragged Lindsay behind a massive cart filled with hay, throwing herself to the ground and peering out between the wheels’ spokes. “Look, over there.”

Lindsay followed her gaze to a dozen men and women sauntering in through the gates and pausing to linger in the middle of the courtyard. They were armed to the teeth.

“Bounty hunters from the south,” Meg whispered. Lindsay stiffened beside her.

“From Taurin?”  
  
“No, sent after Michael and I. There’s a giant ass price on our heads, remember? Shit,” she added, as her eyes fell on one of the men, “Someone’s done their research. They know I can transfigure.”

Sure enough, a string of dead black birds flopped limply from a stake hanging over the man’s shoulder. It made Meg shudder with fear despite herself. As an intimidation tactic, it was pretty fucking effective, even if she’d never admit it. After all, she’d nearly _died_ to the last group that came after them - and it was clear that they were badly outnumbered here.

“Oh right. They’re still after you? Shit,” Lindsay murmured.

Meg licked her lips nervously. Her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding. There were a lot of them - but one in particular had her seething, a rotund young man who wore leather armour over long blue robes, a woollen hat on his head against the cold. _Mage_. She could tell at a glance, in the way he carried himself, in the look in his eyes. She didn’t want to probe at him too hard - it would give away she was nearby - but that also meant she couldn’t test how much mana he might have. 

The fear rose up in her chest, but a second later Lindsay shifted next to her. When Meg glanced over, the other woman’s face was fiercely determined, and in that moment Meg had no doubts whatsoever that this woman had her back as much as Michael ever had. And having seen her in battle, having heard from Michael how she’d cut down that other crew - it reassured her. Which in turn only made her feel more vulnerable - she shoved those thoughts away.

“We’d better get out of here quickly,” she muttered.

“How’d they know we were here?” Lindsay hissed.

“Bribed someone at the outpost, most likely.” Meg shifted to get a better view of the group. “Oh my gods, can they just fucking _leave_?”  
  
With no regard for common courtesy or respect for general unspoken traffic conventions, the bounty hunters had stopped right in the middle of the square and were lingering, chatting to each other, forcing merchant carts to stop and pass around them. Their leader had a look about him that seemed to make most people think twice about asking him to get the fuck out of the way.

“We need to sneak past them,” Lindsay declared.

“Absolutely not,” Meg hissed. “We’ll have to wait. That square’s so fucking open. There’s no way I can get past without them seeing.”  
  
“Would they really attack you in the middle of a public place like this?” Lindsay asked, incredulously.

“You don’t know this group. They’re a syndicate. See their tattoos?” She gestured at the closest woman - the tattoo on the back of her neck; a roaring wolf’s mouth that marked every one of them. “These guys don’t let up easy.”  
  
Lindsay let out a low sigh.

“Well, shit,” she murmured.

“We’ll wait it out.” Meg started to settle down on the ground, but Lindsay grabbed her arm.

“We can’t,” she said urgently, “What if Michael comes looking for us and runs right into them?” That made Meg stiffen, but before she could reply, Lindsay barrelled on, “I have a cunning plan!”  
  
“Oh gods,” she groaned, “Here we go.”

“Hey, you haven’t even heard it yet. It’s _genius_. You turn into a bird-”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Meg whispered, rather hysterically, “They’re killing every black bird they come across-”

She broke off as one of Lindsay’s fingers was suddenly against her lips.

“I wasn’t done,” she said. “Turn into a bird and hide in my bag! I’ll walk right past them.”  
  
Meg stared at her. Lindsay was grinning, her eyes sparkling with confidence. After a moment she lowered her finger, and Meg swallowed.

“That will never work,” she managed.

“Sure it will! Just sit still for like five minutes and Bob’s your uncle. I have no uncles,” she added sadly, as Meg continued to watch her in a stunned silence, “So I never quite got that saying, but I think it’s applicable.”  
  
“Fuck me,” Meg groaned, and peered out again. They weren’t leaving, and she realised with a sinking feeling that Lindsay was right. She was concerned about Michael coming out to look for them - Meg usually left a note if they were in the middle of a job together, but she’d felt awkward going into his room while he was sleeping.

“Look, they’re stopping people,” she pointed out. “They’re definitely trying to find us. What will you say if they ask you something?”  
  
“I’m a very good liar,” Lindsay replied pleasantly, and Meg snorted.

“You’re terrible. You can’t even lie about being a good liar.”  
  
“Trust me!” Lindsay insisted, “I know what I’m doing!”  
  
“I really don’t think you do!”

“But that’s what makes it so _effective_! The element of surprise! We don’t have time to argue about this.”  
  
“What the fuck,” Meg whispered to herself, but bit her lip.

_Trust._ It had gotten them this far, and she thought of Lindsay’s enormous blade swinging towards her - the forest on fire - blood in the snow - their dance in the tavern last night - and heaved a deep breath.

“Do not fuck this up,” she warned. “I’m vulnerable in this form. I can’t cast magic and it takes a moment for me to change back. So if you get us caught…”  
  
“I won’t get you caught!” Lindsay’s smile had widened. “Trust me.”  
  
“I shouldn’t,” Meg sighed, “Yet I am, and this concerns me.”  
  
“Embrace the chaos, Meg,” Lindsay said warmly, and Meg let out a huff of breath. She closed her eyes and drew on her magic, transfiguring smoothly in to her bird form. She hadn’t exerted her magic like this since her injury, and it went a little stiffly - like stretching a muscle she hadn’t used in a while - but a moment later the world was growing larger around her. Sounds felt sharper, her vision became more acute, and the next thing she knew she was standing on the ground and Lindsay - enormous now - peered down at her. She smiled in delight.

“Never gets old!” she cried.

Meg let out an angry sort of growl, but Lindsay was already opening her shoulder bag.

“Come on!”

Grudgingly, Meg hopped inside and folded her legs under her, settling down as best she could. The bag smelt musty and of a mix of the things Lindsay had kept in here - her bottle of polish, a scrap of soap, some sort of old food. Strong cheese, from the smell of it. Fucking fantastic.

With a rather bizarre sense of _what the fuck is happening_ , she squawked as Lindsay crammed the books in over her, bumping her on the head.

“Sorry, sorry!” she heard the other woman murmur, “Just thought it’d look suspicious for me to carry them. Okay, up we go.”  
  
The flap closed and the next thing Meg knew, she was enclosed in a dark, stagnant space with cloth pressed to her face and her wings crushed by the heavy books and everything smelling like fucking cheddar. The situation was quite atrocious, really, and she wasn’t sure _why_ she’d agreed to this. Would’ve had better luck hiding in the hay cart or finding some other disguise. Well, it was too late to back out now - the bag was already swinging upright as it was slung over Lindsay’s shoulder, swaying dizzily like a rocky ship in motion. She could feel every jolt of Lindsay’s footsteps as she walked, but it was hard to tell how far she’d gotten.

“Hey!” A gruff man’s voice called out. The sound was muffled through the thick cloth of the bag. “You - Red!”

“You referring to me?” she heard Lindsay holler back.

“Yeah.”  
  
Meg held her breath as she heard the group of bounty hunter’s approach - their heavy boots, the clink of metal armour. She imagined their leader squaring up to Lindsay, much taller than her. Imagined - with a flash of comfort - the other woman holding her own, leering defiantly back up at him. Somehow she couldn’t imagine her doing anything else.

“Whatcha want?” Lindsay demanded.

“Where the fuck did you spring from?” the bounty hunter growled back. “You weren’t out on the road with us.”  
  
“I came here to check if the gate was open. I’m leaving for Solaire soon to make worship.”  
  
“Oh yeah? On your own?”  
  
“Uh huh.” To Lindsay’s credit, she didn’t sound too suspicious - probably, Meg thought grimly, because of the grain of truth in her lies. 

“Been in town long?”  
  
“My parents used to live here. I study in Solaire. I came back for the town dance the other night. Do you need something or can I go?”  
  
“You happen to see these two people last night?” There was a rustle of paper- then a long silence. This was the pivotal moment, Meg though, when Lindsay’d really have to sell it, and her doubts resurfaced. 

But a moment later, it was the man who spoke again - a confused note in his voice.

“What the fuck are you so close for?”  
  
“I can barely see this drawing, it’s all a big blur!” Lindsay complained.

“What, you going blind or some shit?”  
  
“No! How dare you! My eyesight is perfect!” Meg bit back a resigned noise. She could just imagine Lindsay affectedly squinting up at the guy, face screwed up, maybe looking at a point just left of his face. “You know what, I think I may have seen them. How much will you pay me for the information?”  
  
“Fucking hell,” the guy grunted - a murmur of objections was rising up from his party - “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“No, I want to help! But what are you offering?”  
  
“Fuck off, wench. You clearly have impaired vision and we’re not giving you shit.”  
  
“You’re the ones who asked!” Lindsay yelled, and a rattle of footsteps betrayed the bounty hunters moving away.

“Be on your way!” the man shouted, distantly, and Lindsay gave a heavy, annoyed sigh. She began to walk again, the bag swinging to and fro, and Meg strained to listen but caught no sign of the group following. They turned a corner and the bag was set down, the books pulled away as bright daylight spilled back down on her. Meg hopped out and stretched her cramped wings a few times, ruffling her feathers before she transformed back. She landed on her ass on the damp cobblestones of a back alley, and Lindsay’s hand came to steady her shoulder. Meg met her eyes, gasping.

“I can’t believe that worked!” she said.

Lindsay grinned, wide and cheerful, eyes glinting mischievously.

“When in doubt, play dumb,” she declared. “Or, well, blind. Or pretend you speak some foreign language. My go-to methods of getting people to leave me alone.”  
  
“You’re impossible,” Meg said, but couldn’t help her breathless smile. The adrenaline was pumping and it made her feel nearly giddy.

“I’m a chaotic genius,” Lindsay preened, “You have to admit it was effective. They won’t ask me for shit after that.”  
  
Meg sighed and rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help giggling a bit. It was ridiculous, it was just so fucking _ridiculous_ \- but it was exactly the sort of stupid shit that tickled her and Michael. Lindsay started chuckling too, looking pleased with herself.

“Impressive, huh?” she nudged Meg’s arm. “Huh?”  
  
“I have to admit, I’d never have thought of it,” Meg huffed. “Perhaps you have your moments after all.”  
  
“Hell yeah I do,” Lindsay said, puffing out her chest in a way that made Meg roll her eyes again. “Come on, let’s get the others and go. Hopefully those guys have fucked off by the time we return.”  
  
She rose and held out a hand, and Meg hesitated - then grasped it. Why not, after all? She saw Lindsay’s genuine smile.

_Maybe she doesn’t hate you after all,_ she thought - _not all the time, at least_. And she fancied the other woman’s cheeks flushed a little at her nod of appreciation as she let Lindsay pull her to her feet and they headed off down the road together.

 

* * *

 

Gavin sat alone in his room, staring at himself in the mirror.

Sometimes, if he sort of… let his vision unfocus a bit, he could imagine that the light of the Flame was shining out of every pore. Like he could see it glinting in his eyes, suffusing through his skin, seeping in beams out of his nose and mouth. Something holy and unnatural to it.

Then he’d blink, and the illusion would be gone, and it was just his own funny, pinched little face staring back at him from the mirror. Gavin wasn’t an idiot - he’d known he looked different from most other people for as long as he could remember. Granted, all he’d had to go off were the priests and Lindsay, which was not the world’s biggest sample size, but still. His eyes were bright green and his features were thin and pointed and his teeth were a bit sharper than one would expect.

_It’s because you’re sent from Sol,_ they’d all told him if he ever asked, _it’s because you’re the chosen one_. And he’d believed it. And he’d never felt out of place until now-

Until last night, at the dance and then up here in this room-

He shook himself.

_Don’t forget your duty, idiot. Don’t forget that all this isn’t yours, wasn’t made for you. You just have to save it._

A knock at the door made him jump. Automatic fear spiked through his chest as he scrambled for his sword - but it settled instantly when Michael’s gruff voice rang out.

“Yo, Sunbeam - you awake yet?” A lazy rapping - three strokes, a pause, two more. “Rise and shine. Hope your hangover isn’t too bad because mine is fucking _atrocious_.”

“Coming!” Gavin called out, and scrambled to open the door. He was greeted with the sight of Michael leaning right in the door frame, squinting at him. He hadn’t shaved, and there was scraggly stubble clinging to his chin. His hair was ruffled to immense proportions, his eyes smudged with dark shadows - but Gavin felt a sudden, intense surge of affection for him. _Michael,_ lovely, human Michael who’d whirled him around the dance floor like it was nothing, who’d let him forget just for a night… whose presence now brought a sudden comforting normality back to him, something that made him feel nothing but _safe_.

“Hi,” he said, a bit breathlessly.

“Hi,” Michael replied, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Your shirt’s done up wrong.”  
  
He strode into the room and turned on Gavin. A second later Michael’s hands were on his chest, briskly undoing and redoing the errant fastenings. Their bodies were too close, and Gavin swallowed. Michael peered up at him and frowned.

“What’s with that sad look? Got a headache?”  
  
“No, I’m okay actually,” Gavin murmured.

“Wait, you’re really not hungover? You were drinking your little ass off back there.”  
  
“No, I’m fine!” 

“You really can hold your drink.” Michael sounded impressed, and Gavin liked it. He liked the other man’s hands lingering on his chest, too. They were warm, but not like the Flame was warm. Something strong, human about it. “Lindsay claimed you were the world’s greatest lightweight.”  
  
“I get drunk, but I don’t get hungover. I’m magic, Michael,” Gavin said, and wiggled his fingers in the other man’s face only to yelp when Michael caught his finger and pulled on it. “Ow.”  
  
“Well, lucky you.” Michael turned away and stretched, yawning. “The girls went out but I assume they’ll be back soon, so let’s get packed up and ready to go.”  
  
“Are we stopping by the temple of Sol?” Gavin asked eagerly.

“Sure,” Michael replied, easily, “But my first stop is breakfast. C’mon.”  
  
He turned to leave - but Gavin caught his wrist on impulse.

“Michael!”  
  
“What?” Michael turned - his face softening when he must have seen the uncertainty in Gavin’s eyes. Gavin bit his lip - a nervous tremor running through him.   
  
“Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked, slowly.

“Huh?”  
  
“At the dance.” Gavin swallowed hard. “After we finished our dance together.”  
  
Michael stared at him, vacant confusion in his eyes. Then he chewed at his lip.

“I have a vague memory of some old naked guy flopping his bits everywhere,” he said, “But that, quite frankly, I’d rather _forget_. Oh,” he added with realisation, “Did the cat die, is that what’s upset you?”  
  
“No, we found her inside. Do you remember where I went?”  
  
“No. I was too drunk. Did something happen?” His face darkened, protectively, and he stepped closer. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Nothing bad happened!” Gavin assured him quickly, though it made his heart skip how intense Michael had gotten, and how quickly. “I went off, with a girl, remember? I went _upstairs_ with her.”  
  
He could feel his face burning and couldn’t even laugh at the sheer shock in Michael’s eyes. He looked around as though expecting said woman to materialise somewhere in the room. Then he seemed to recover - and turned to Gavin, grinning and nudging him.

“Oh, nice! Good for you! How was it?”  
  
“It _wasn’t_ ,” Gavin replied, in a miserable and embarrassed rush. “I chickened out at the last minute.”

Michael processed this and then looked, for a moment, perilously close to bursting out in laughter. Gavin turned away, jaw clenching - humiliation hot in his chest. Maybe it had been a bad idea to bring this up - maybe Michael was the wrong person. Maybe it was the sort of thing you were meant to keep to yourself? Probably. He didn’t know - he didn’t _know_ these things. He was used to sharing absolutely everything with Lindsay, but not _this -_ the thought of telling her was somehow even more embarrassing, and he didn’t know why.

But Michael didn’t laugh. He seemed to realise it wasn’t funny to Gavin - and instead tugged him to sit on the bed, plonking himself next to him and bumping their shoulders together. Gavin leaned into him, gratefully.

“So,” Michael said gently, “What happened? I don’t remember any of this - I think I was getting too smashed to notice anything.”  
  
“We were dancing,” Gavin replied softly, “And she kissed me here.” He pointed to the side of his mouth, not quite on his lips. “She asked if I wanted to go upstairs. I know what she meant, I’m no idiot. I thought, why not. She was pretty and it was exciting and I got swept up in it. The music and _her_ and wanting to try all the things I’d missed out on. But when we got up here I was just…”

He trailed off, helplessly, shrugging, unable to articulate it. Michael was watching him in concern.

“I’ve never done that before,” he blurted. “Not anything like it. I just got - nervous. I didn’t know what to do, so I changed my mind at the last second. I felt very awkward about it.”

“Nothing to feel awkward about,” Michael said, firmly. “You’re allowed to change your mind. I know it’s embarrassing, but I’m sure she didn't mind.”  
  
“She was nice about it,” Gavin murmured.

“No harm done, then!” Michael slung an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t rush into things, Gav. Until a few weeks ago you were on an island, for gods’ sake! It’s gonna take time to adjust. And right now might not be the best time to start… exploring things.”  
  
“You’re right,” Gavin said softly, though something nagged at his mind - something he couldn’t quite place.

Michael patted him briskly on the knee.

“You got plenty of time after you save the world, right?”  
  
“Right,” Gavin said, “I just - I felt bad. I wanted to try it but I realised I hadn’t the first clue what to do.”  
  
Michael looked a bit awkward, a bit trapped.  
  
“That’s, uh - that’s probably a conversation for another time, buddy,” he said. “Bit early in the morning. And I’m a bit hungover.”  
  
“Right, right,” Gavin said quickly, feeling rather flustered. Michael thumped him good-naturedly on the back a few times before leaping up from the bed.

“C’mon!” he cried. “Breakfast!”  
  
“Of course.” He felt better just for talking about it, and as they turned to the door Gavin reached out, shyly. “Thanks, Michael.”  
  
Michael glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him. It made Gavin’s heart skip a bit the way the girl last night’s had, all pretty in the firelight. Her hands had felt nice on him while they were dancing, when he could smell her perfume and feel all the lines of her body. But it had been nice to dance with Michael, too. He’d felt strong and comforting and _safe._ He _liked_ the other man, even if he was kind of intimidating. But Gavin pushed those thoughts aside and trotted out after him now, Michael holding the door for him as they headed down to get breakfast.

 

* * *

 

They met up with Lindsay and Meg outside the inn, where they recounted some sort of exciting tale about a daring escape from bounty hunters and also apparently they had to leave the city post-haste. That was exciting - but as they headed for the religious sector, Gavin couldn’t help but think that Lindsay was being… weird.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. She just seemed quieter than usual, and she kept addressing remarks aimed at the whole group to Meg or Michael rather than him. He wasn’t quite sure if he was imagining things - or imagining the way that Meg, too, seemed to be giving him little glances.

_Did something happen?_

Usually things like that didn’t get to him too much, but he was feeling rattled from last night and it made him anxious.

“Is everything alright?” he whispered eventually, falling back by Lindsay’s side. “You seem quiet.”  
  
He knew her well enough to catch her brief hesitation, her hitched intake of breath - but a moment later she smiled and put an arm around his shoulders, hugging him close for a moment.

“I’m fine, Gav. Just hungover.”  
  
“Okay…”

It didn’t seem wholly like the truth, but he didn’t want to pry in front of the others, and bit his lip, pushing it away for the time being.

The temple of Sol soon loomed ahead of them, and the sight of it made Gavin’s heart skip a beat happily. It was a fairly simple building, wood like the rest of the city but much taller with a vaulted roof - but the exterior was painted a bright, daffodil yellow. Around the ridge of the roof hung strings of round paper lanterns, each with a small candle inside. They glowed faintly in the daylight, but Gavin thought with a small smile of how the temple on the Isle had looked at night - like it stood in a sea of stars, like fireflies were flitting around it.

A row of beggars sat along the side of the road, heads bowed, hands extended in supplication. The sight tugged at Gavin's heart.

"Lindsay," he whispered, and she nodded and fished the coin purse from her bag.

They'd spent quite a bit of the gold that the priests had left them with back at the outpost - but a number of it had been broken into smaller change. Gavin pressed a bronze or silver crown into each hand as he passed.

"May Sol's light warm you," a few murmured in return, and he smiled.

"Should we stop him?" he heard Meg mutter behind him, but glanced back in time to see Michael shake his head. They both looked uncomfortable - but he didn't have the energy to pick a fight about this, not again.

"The kindness you extend to others, Sol returns to you tenfold," Lindsay informed them.

"So this is an investment," Michael joked, but she shook her head - not playing along.

"No, it's just the way."

"The way to lose all your money," Meg muttered, but Gavin thought he must be getting to know her, because he could pick up on the slight defensive tremor in it - a self-consciousness that, to the untrained ear, would probably have just made her sound blunt.

They passed through into the centre of the square where all the temples were, and the building loomed up ahead of them. Most people were leaving - heading to work, most likely, having said their morning prayers. A warm happiness spread through Gavin's chest at the sight of the temple; it felt safe, familiar, like coming home.

"It's just so _yellow,"_ Michael muttered beside him, in a mix of admiration and horror.

"I'll wait outside," Meg added, but Gavin turned and tugged at her hand.

"Come on," he said eagerly, "Please? Even if you don't believe, it's peaceful in there. It's nice sometimes to just have a moment of quiet."

"I actively _disbelieve_ ," she pointed out, one eyebrow raised. "Sure it's not some sort of blasphemy for me to set foot in there?"

"It's just a building," Lindsay replied, "Anyone can go in or out."

"But you gotta take your shoes off," Gavin declared, springing up the wooden stores and tugging at the laces of his boots. He kicked them onto an existing, small pile of shoes by the door. "Like you do when you're in someone's house."

"Hell no," Michael said, "I'm not taking my fucking shoes off."

"Why not?" Lindsay had plonked herself on the ground and was rolling about, wrestling with her own boots.

"What if someone steals them?" Michael demanded. "Then I'll be fucked!"

Gavin burst into a fit of squealing laughter. Michael looked so funny, with his arms crossed and his red face in the middle of that big furry hood.

"No one's gonna steal your bloody shoes!" he squeaked. "Didn't you used to worship, Michael? You should be familiar with this!"

"As a kid," Michael protested, "Kids barely wear shoes anyway."

This, Gavin reflected, was indeed true. As a boy he'd spent every day running around the island on his bare feet until his soles were as thick as leather.

"No one wants your stinky old boots, Michael," he said, shaking his head.

_"Michael,"_ Michael imitated, in a high-pitched, unflattering voice - but sighed and bent to undo his laces, muttering under his breath all the while.

Meg lingered by the side, looking awkward. Gavin, in his socks now, sidled over to her.

"You don't have to come in if you don't want to," he whispered, taking pity. "You can mind Michael's boots, if he's so worried about it."

"It's not that, I just - I literally never go into temples." Her voice was gentler than he would have expected. "Honestly no reason to. As a child my siblings and I just looked on them with... well, condescension I suppose. Full of idiots who go around staring at the sun all day. What do you even do in there?"

"You just sit and think! It's nice!"

"I can sit and think out here, though."

"It's hard to explain. But if you're curious, you can just look around. As long as you're respectful there's not really any rules." He shrugged, and Meg stared at him for a long moment. He wasn't quite sure what she was thinking, but she didn't seem cross with him. After a moment she smiled a little.

"Sure. I'm curious."

"Yay!" he said, and turned to find Lindsay staring at him. But she waved them to go in, and Gavin walked inside, Meg and Michael trailing a little awkwardly behind him.

The roof of the temple had an enormous glass panel at the top and the entire building - a single, wide rectangular room - was awash with natural sunlight. The fragrant scent of flowers and burning sticks of incense hung in the air, and there was a single brazier of crackling fire surrounded by smaller trays of candles in the centre of the room.

The walls were covered in painted murals depicting the various legends of Sol, but they were nearly covered by the rows and rows of sunflowers in pots that filled the space of the temple in aisles. It was like stepping into a summertime field and Gavin felt his entire body instantly relax. The hushed quiet, the warm air, the gentle crackle of the fire - it sent a blanket of tranquility over him and for the first time since leaving the Isle, he genuinely felt safe.

He wandered towards the fire and moved to light a candle. There were only a few people in here - drifting about between the flowers, sitting and staring up at the sky, lying in the pools of sunlight about the room or reading the various murals - most of them yellow-garbed priests who looked like dandelions in their bright robes.

His hands were shaking a little as he lit the candle and held it over another to melt the bottom before sticking it into the metal tray. He stared into the brazier until his eyes ached and bright spots danced over his vision - the flickering, dancing shapes of the fire, a myriad of endless random movements, no rhyme, no reason to it. He touched his chest and closed his eyes as he focused on the warmth of the Flame in his own chest.

_Sol, give me the strength to keep carrying your gift, no matter how scared I get, no matter how cold the path grows along the way. Help me to be brave enough to do the right thing. You’ve guided us this far. Please - keep my companions and I safe as we continue our travels. Lend us your speed and keep the road warm._

He let out a long, slow breath and let his mind fall back into happy memories, offering each one up with a prayer of gratitude to that warm being in the sky above.

_Thank you for Lindsay and the bravery she has shown this entire trip. Her bright smile, her strength, her sword, her hand in mine as we travel these new paths._

_Thank you for the gold that has provided us with all that we need so far, and I hope to repay the kindness by helping others along the way._

_Thank you for Meg and Michael and helping kindness reach their hearts, and speeding our way through the night so that Meg’s life could be saved. Their laughter, their friendship, their cleverness, their strength._

He imagined each thought floating to the sky in a tiny speck of firelight, like the glow-bugs that he and Lindsay used to chase back on the Isle and try to catch in their hands, dissolving into the sky to become a shower of tiny stars. And for a second-

For a second his senses were overwhelmed. The smell of flowers and incense flooded him, and the firelight on his face felt like the sun, and for a second he thought he might be back on the Isle. For a second, it struck him - all that he’d lost, and his mind raced with memories of the priests’ gentle, kind hands tucking him into bed as a child - of racing about to kiss wrinkled, sun-weathered cheeks every night before he went off to sleep - of gentle voices teaching him to read. And then, as a strong young man - following in his elders’ footsteps as they walked about the Isle foraging, gathering wood, greeting every creature and plant of the Isle that they knew as familiar friends.

All gone now-

All _burned now-_

Tears pricked at his eyes and suddenly someone was beside him. He looked up to see Lindsay, her face soft, her own eyes red. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close.

“I thank Sol for sparing you,” she whispered, “And for all who gave their lives to help you get off the Isle. They did it for everyone else in these kingdoms. Their debt will be repaid.”  
  
Gavin bowed his head and leaned into her side. They stood for a long time, until his breathing finally steadied and he felt the flittering anxiety in his chest fade away. Then they turned back to the others.

Michael and Meg were lingering by one of the side walls. They were sitting on the floor in a pool of sunlight. Michael’s eyes were closed, his head tipped back. He looked peaceful. Meg was staring at the mural on the wall beside her, seeming lost in thought. When Lindsay and Gavin wandered over, they both stirred as if roused from a dream, and scrambled to their feet. 

Some trace of their upset must have shown on their faces; Meg and Michael exchanged a concerned glance.   
  
“Come on,” Lindsay said quietly, “Let’s go.”  
  
They trailed towards the door, and Meg fell back by Gavin’s side. She pressed his arm and he glanced down at her, a bit surprised she’d been the one to reach out.

“You okay?” she whispered, and he nodded.

“I miss home,” he admitted, “But I’ll be okay.”  
  
She bit her lip and squeezed his arm. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch, warmed by the fact that she even cared. They headed back onto into the bracing winter air. A moment later, Michael let out a furious shriek.

“My shoes are gone!”  
  
He descended on the pile of shoes like a dog digging up a bone, flinging them every which way, scattering them across the porch even as Gavin spluttered protests and tried to pick them up.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck - I fucking _told you!_ And it’s literally only _mine_ they took! Holy fucking shit, I can’t _believe this!_ ”

Lindsay burst into a fit of guffawing laughter, practically doubled over. Even Meg was smirking in amusement, and after a moment Gavin - arms full of other people’s boots - couldn’t help his own wheezing giggle. Michael turned and scowled up at them all, red in the face.

“It’s not fucking funny, that’s my only pair! Who the hell would _take_ them?”

With another gleeful cackle, Lindsay pulled the shoes out of her bag. Michael stared at her for a moment, jaw slack in shock. Then he sprang up and snatched them from her.

“Why?” he yelled, although Gavin thought he saw his lip quiver a little in suppressed amusement. “Just _why_?”  
  
“ _For the chaos_ , Michael!” Lindsay replied. “Ha! I really got you good there.”

“You’re the worst.” He hurled one shoe at her and she shrieked and jumped backwards. The two of them tumbled down the stairs, swinging their shoes at each other by the laces, trying to slap each other with them - dancing about in their socks on the cold, damp cobblestones. Gavin watched them, clutching his stomach, laughing so hard it almost hurt. The look on Michael’s face! He watched with a grin as Michael kicked his remaining shoe at Lindsay, who tried to catch it and failed spectacularly.

“Idiots,” Meg said, and he turned to see she’d come up next to him. She was watching the two of them fondly. “At least they’re getting on well.”  
  
“She likes you too, you know,” Gavin said - he could see it, he knew Lindsay well enough to tell, even if she complained about the mage. He’d learned by now that the more she bitched about something the more likely it was that it was something she _wanted_. 

Meg eyed him dubiously, but Gavin nodded firmly.

“She does! I’m glad. We’re on the same team now. We should be friends. Friends tease each other.” He watched Lindsay chase Michael across the square, brandishing a wet sock. “I’m just glad they’re both smiling.”  
  
“You too,” Meg pointed out softly, and he looked at her. For a second, something in her eyes - something kind. Something almost like the way she looked at Michael. It made him feel flushed and happy, and he dared to let his arm brush against hers a little, and was pleased when she didn’t move away.

 

* * *

 

Gavin was really rather enjoying their first journey as a proper group of four. The caravan, he had decided, didn’t really count. Now that no one was a prisoner, no one was injured, he didn’t have a headache… it was really quite lovely, strolling through the forest as one big team. Meg was leading the way with a confidence that he couldn’t help but admire, and even in the cold and the snow he felt safer in such a big group - and excited that with a proper guide they would get up north quicker.

Before, with just him and Lindsay, he’d mostly felt stressed. Now that they weren’t on the brink of getting lost at any given moment, he could relax and properly enjoy their surroundings. Which, for him, mostly involved spotting different birds and trying to get Michael to tell him what they were.

“Is that a tit?” he demanded, skipping along and pointing at it.

“No,” Michael grunted, “That’s a robin, can’t you see it’s red?”  
  
“Oh! It looks more sort of orange. How about that, is _that_ a tit?”  
  
“No! That’s way too big. They’re only little birds. Look, I’ll tell you if I see one, okay?”  
  
“I want to hear one make its _chick-a-dee-dee-dee_ sound,” Gavin said happily.

“He’s never seen a tit before,” Lindsay informed them, solemnly, and Meg snorted loudly. Gavin saw Michael glance at her - for a moment, a sort of pained longing on his face - and couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen.

Still, awkwardness aside, it was all a terribly grand adventure. At one point they found a badger’s nest and there were all sorts of plants he’d never seen on the island, and Michael seemed to know a lot about all of them. Gavin clung to every word as he told him about this flower or that, about which mushrooms were poisonous, clearly with a wealth of experience from his many journeys through this place.

“We have big parrots on the Isle,” Gavin said. “Great colourful ones that eat fruit and shit everywhere! Some of them learned to talk because they lived in the trees near the priests’ compound and heard us all the time.”  
  
“We’d go out and feed them bits of fruit,” Lindsay added. “I remember them. They were so friendly.”  
  
They exchanged a nostalgic smile and Michael shot him a sympathetic look.

“My mother had a parrot once,” he said. “I only have a dim memory of it. Must’ve died when I was a kid.”

“That’s sad,” Gavin said. “How come you guys don’t have horses, wouldn’t it be faster?”  
  
“Too much trouble lodging them in every town we pass through,” Michael said. “And neither of us are trained to fight on horseback. But maybe one day.”  
  
“I can’t ride a horse,” Gavin informed him. “Or else we’d be able to get north a lot faster.”

The day wore on. The forest around them began to thicken as they moved out of the areas that had been cleared by the logging town and sloped steeply downhill. Meg had a compass that she would pull from her belt and flick deftly open every now and again, and Gavin trusted she was keeping them on the right course.

“Have you been through this area of the forest before?” he asked, coming up by her side; she shook her head.

“No, not this area - but I’m not afraid of Gramarye,” she added, “I’ve travelled through the rest of it enough times that I know what to expect.”

Gavin nodded. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask more about her past adventures - when suddenly she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.

“Careful!”  
  
“What is it?” he asked, only to turn and catch his breath. The ground gave way ahead of them into a deep ravine. It was fairly wide and stretched deep into the forest to either side of them. The bottom of the pit was shadowed from the trees that loomed over either side of it, and Gavin could see jagged rocks covered in a slippery, foul looking moss.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Is that on the map?”  
  
Meg shook her head.

“A lot of Gramarye is unmapped. I doubt there’d be a bridge here.” She inched forward and Gavin clung to her arm, terrified she’d slip and fall. “It’s not too bad. I can see a few possible ways to get down but we should investigate either side first, see if there’s a more natural slope.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Michael had come up behind them by now and let out a breath. “Fuck me.”  
  
“We’re gonna split up. Check out five minutes either way and see if there’s a better path down. Otherwise we’ve got rope; I reckon we can climb it.” She patted her bag. “Sound okay?”  
  
“Sounds fine,” Michael said, and there followed an incredibly awkward silence in which no one seemed to know how to split themselves up. Gavin’s first instinct, of course, was to gravitate towards Lindsay, but in the uncomfortable pause he saw _Meg_ begin to step towards him - but before he could, Michael suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Guess we’re your bodyguards now,” he said. “You two alright to go together?”  
  
He nodded at Meg and Lindsay, the latter of whom was staring around at them all in bemusement. Meg froze, then nodded.

“Sure.” She recovered enough to raise an eyebrow. “We make a good team.”  
  
Lindsay looked at her for a moment and Gavin caught her lips twitch into a small smile. Meg tugged at her arm, pulling her towards one side of the ridge. Gavin watched them leave - Lindsay glanced over her shoulder at him and pulled a face that made him laugh - he turned away to find Michael waiting.

“Come on, then,” he said, and Gavin trailed after him as they wandered along.

Gavin wasn’t scared of much, and not even heights, but he steered clear of the steep drop to their left as they picked their way through the trees. Something about the drop made him uneasy. They walked in silence for what felt like much longer than five minutes and Gavin kept his mouth shut. Michael wasn’t making an effort towards conversation and something felt odd to him - the mood had shifted, somehow.

“Hey,” Michael grunted finally - they’d walked into a quieter, darker side of the forest and Gavin shuffled closer to his side, a little disconcerted. “That shit back there…”

“Shit?” Gavin questioned, mouthing the word delicately as though holding it at arm’s length between two pinched fingers.

“No, I just mean - it should be like this. It shouldn’t.” He paused, looking down, toe of his boot scuffing at the ground. “I said I’d give her space, but- it’s hard. I just want to know what she’s thinking. I just want us to be able to _talk._ Like we used to.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. One way or another.” Gavin inched closer, reached out and squeezed Michael’s arm. He hated seeing Michael down but he couldn’t help feeling vaguely pleased the other man trusted him enough to talk to him. To feel safe enough to admit his insecurities. 

“Why’d she want to go with you?”  
  
“I think I’m the least awkward option,” Gavin admitted. “She doesn’t get on with Lindsay.”  
  
“They went out together this morning.” Michael looked up, fixed him with a calculating look. “She doesn’t mind you. It’s odd - she doesn’t usually warm up to people so fast.”

Gavin hesitated - but Michael didn’t sound angry, or even jealous, as Gavin had feared. He just seemed confused.

“I suppose I must just seem pretty harmless,” he suggested, and Michael barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, could be it. God.” He sat down on a nearby log and after a moment Gavin sat beside him. “Back at that town dance I wanted nothing more than to finally _talk_ to her. I thought maybe - it wasn’t the mission, it was neutral ground… but it was too soon. By the time I had enough drink in me to approach she’d gone to bed anyway.”

“The time will come. Just be patient,” Gavin urged.

“You’re right. I’m being an idiot.”  
  
“Is this the first time you’ve been in love?” Gavin asked. He meant it innocently, but when Michael’s head snapped up he realised he’d touched a nerve. “What?”  
  
_“In love_. Just- it didn’t feel real until you said it. It didn’t feel that heavy. I suppose I am,” he said, and his face twisted, pained. “I suppose I really am in that deep.”  
  
“Well, have you?”  
  
“No,” Michael admitted, “I haven’t. I’ve had my fair share of partners but - nothing serious. So I’m on as foreign ground as you were the other night, Gav.”  
  
It was meant to be teasing but Gavin couldn’t bring himself to laugh; he looked away a bit mournfully, his chest twisting with embarrassment again. The thing was, as much as he wanted to heed Michael’s advice to slow down, to not worry so much about it, he couldn’t help it. The embarrassment was an ache in his chest, but not just that, the _longing_.

He had an important job to do, here.

But every second they weren’t on the Isle, every new town they passed through or every path they walked through the forest, it was all an acute, devastating reminder of how much he’d missed out on. Every time crowds of people made him anxious, or he felt lost or alone, or he saw Michael and Meg navigating the world with such deft _ease_ \- then _he_  was the one who felt jealous. Who felt lacking. Who wished, like a child again, that more than anything he could have grown up in this world.

He’d loved the Isle, and he’d learned a lot. But it wasn’t until he was out here that he’d really, tangibly _seen_ just how much he’d missed out on, and it had awoken something like a hunger in him. He would never abandon his duty, but there was just so _much_ out here that he wanted to experience. And as much as he kept telling himself _after, after - there will be time later on_ \- it felt like a loss, something he hadn’t realised was missing until now.

“What was it like?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “Like, what do you - do?”

Michael nearly choked on his own spit and Gavin instantly regretted saying anything. He could feel his cheeks burning.

“What,” Michael demanded, “Want me to give you the gritty details? There are books for that.”  
  
“No, just…” he trailed off helplessly, and was on the verge of asking Michael just to forget it, but the other man took pity.

“You’ll have plenty of time to figure it out someday, if you want to. You should try and be gentle, at least at first. Be kind. Communicate. Make sure you’re both enjoying what’s going on. Above all it should be fun, at least if that’s what you’re in the mood for. No point if it isn’t.”  
  
He shifted on the log and their arms brushed. Gavin felt his cheeks flush warmer. He stared at Michael with a dawning, grateful admiration. The other man was so worldly, so handsome - for a second he really did remind Gavin of all the heroes he’d read about; capable of anything. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be Michael or be _with_ him, to have the other man look at him and care about him as closely as he did Meg. Or maybe not quite that closely, he realised with a blush - or… well, he didn’t know.

He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. A stupid thought struck him, so stupid that for a moment he was appalled at himself. But Michael was watching him with such warm brown eyes that his resolve flickered.

“I…” he began, shyly. “I… I know this sounds odd, but…”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Michael assured him, “What is it?”  
  
“Could you maybe help me learn?”  
  
The smile on Michael’s face vanished, replaced by total shock. Gavin fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. Dear gods, clearly he hadn’t been expecting _that_.

“Uhhh,” Michael managed to get out, a strangled sort of incoherent noise. “Wait, what the fuck do you mean by that?”  
  
“You don’t have to!” Gavin stammered. “But like - I would rather start off with someone I know and trust, y’know? In case I mess it up and make a right fool of myself.”  
  
Michael was staring at him, eyes huge and round, and Gavin gnawed at his lip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I know that was a - a bizarre request, I hope it hasn’t made you uncomfortable. It was silly, I shouldn’t-”

“It’s not silly,” Michael cut in, seeming to regain his senses. “It’s not… it’s not the worst thing you could have asked. I’m just surprised.” His own cheeks looked red, but it was hard to tell in the shadow of the trees. “Just - why me?”

“Well, I trust you, lovely Michael,” Gavin said. His stomach still felt tight and coiled. “But we’re not so close that it would make things weird, right?”

“I suppose theoretically not,” Michael replied, but still looked a bit shocked.

“Just so that I at least know what to do next time.” Gavin looked down, embarrassed. “First time’s the scariest, right? It’d be a… a great favour to me, but as I said. You’re not obliged.”  
  
Michael didn’t seem overly bothered. In fact he looked quite thoughtful, turning to stare at Gavin, who found himself suddenly unable to meet his gaze. His stomach thrummed, but it wasn’t the dread he’d felt in the scariest moments of their adventure. It was almost pleasant.

“You’re fucking strange, Gavin,” Michael declared finally, but there was a fond note in his voice. “That’s a crazier plan than anything Lindsay’s come up with! You don’t wanna save your first kiss for someone who matters?”  
  
“You matter!” Gavin protested. “I like you.”  
  
Michael sighed. For a second he looked nervous, too.

“I don’t mind, if you really want me to show you,” he said. “But you’re _sure?”_

“Certain!” Gavin insisted. His heart was pounding faster, faster now. Would it do this every time? It’d beat like this when he was upstairs with that girl but that had been fear more than anticipation as he realised he had no clue what the hell he was doing. “I want to learn. I’ve waited so long and I - I can’t see where I’ll get another chance.”

Michael nodded. He turned towards Gavin who looked down, suddenly embarrassed.

“Can’t exactly kiss the top of your fucking head, can I, Sunbeam?” Michael teased, and Gavin managed a nervous giggle before looking up. He gasped - Michael was much closer than he expected, so close that Gavin could see the rough stubble where he’d been lazy shaving this morning, a thin scar on his temple from some old injury, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. The next thing he knew, Michael’s hand was on his cheek, cupping his face gently, just as strong and warm as he’d imagined. His calloused thumb rubbed just under Gavin’s jaw, sending a shiver down his spine. Michael huffed out a small laugh.

“Go slow,” he murmured, and Gavin nodded. He leaned in, tentatively, until his lips brushed against Michael’s. The contact seemed to send a lightning spark through his entire body; he hesitated, but Michael pushed forward, his hand sliding around to grip gently at the nape of Gavin’s neck instead.

Gavin’s eyes fluttered shut. He sat a little awkwardly as he felt Michael’s lips move against his - then, hesitantly, let his own lips part. He felt his shoulders delax, deepened the kiss, let Michael lead the way. The other man was much gentler than he’d expected, but Gavin could feel the barely coiled strength under the surface. The fur of Michael’s hood tickled his face, and when he reached up and tentatively wrapped a hand around the back of the other man’s head, he felt Michael’s soft curls slip through his fingers.

Their teeth clashed a little, and he flinched - but then Michael was tugging him even closer, and he felt the Flame flare warm and bright in his chest, for a moment forgetting the darkness of the forest, the cold winter around them, the stress of the mission.

By the time they broke apart he was breathless. He took a moment to recover before looking up, a bit shyly, a bit self-conscious, to find Michael staring at him - a funny, almost reverent look in his eyes. He looked far more flustered than Gavin would’ve expected.

“You’re really warm,” Michael murmured, and Gavin blinked at him - but before he could reply, someone cleared their throat loudly a little distance away.

“Um,” Meg said, and both of them whipped around guiltily. She and Lindsay were standing at the edge of the ravine, and Gavin felt a shock of embarrassment - realised, abruptly, that they’d lost track of time, that it must’ve been at least ten minutes if not longer since they started their walk. Both girls looked bewildered, Lindsay’s mouth literally hanging open, eyes trained on them. Sol, how long had they been watching? “What the fuck is happening here?”


	10. Chapter 10

“M-Meg,” Michael stammered, like a fool.

For a second he lost all composure. He felt like he’d been caught with his pants down and was torn between shoving Gavin away from him or clutching him closer. He could see the pure shock on their faces - Lindsay’s eyes darting back and forth, back and forth between them. His face burned and he could only stare helplessly, all possible words escaping him. After a second he frantically glanced at Gavin, who looked just as flustered; his eyes were nearly popping out of his head.

“Well?” Meg asked - and Michael snapped his head back around to look at her.

“We were just - practicing,” he blurted out. Gods, it sounded even more ridiculous out loud! “Gavin wanted to practice. Because he doesn’t know how to do anything.”  
  
“Michael, why would you expose me like this,” Gavin replied sadly, but Michael just made a furious shushing motion at him. Meg stared at them a moment longer, and Michael licked his lips nervously.

_Gods, what must she be thinking? After what I admitted to her… how this looks…_

_She’ll think you fickle._

_Or worse, think you’re playing some stupid game, trying to make her jealous-_

But a second later, Meg broke into a fit of laughter. She doubled over, leaning against the nearest tree to steady herself. Lindsay snorted too, and then she was cracking up as well.

“Gods,” Meg wheezed, “Seriously, Gavin?”

“Look,” Gavin began helplessly, his face red as a tomato.

“If you want to experience a kiss surely you can do better than Michael!”  
  
“Hey!” Michael cried indignantly, but the vice in his chest had loosened in relief.

“Go find a prince or a nobleman or something! Or a nice girl, there’s plenty out there prettier than he is!”

“Technically I’m a nobleman,” Michael snorted, and Meg recovered enough to stick her tongue out at him.

“Only when it suits you,” she fired back, and turned to Gavin. “Well, if you want a proper teacher, you know where to find me.”

Lindsay stopped laughing abruptly - but Gavin, flustered, giggled. And Michael couldn’t help but stare at Meg - her voice was teasing, but he couldn’t tell if she was actually being serious. The urge to turn it into banter was on the tip of his tongue, to say something like _oh, you wanna go, Turney?_ He would’ve said it once, but he bit his tongue now. He couldn’t flirt, couldn’t give her the wrong idea.

His eyes met Meg’s, and her smile faded. She seemed to realise she’d been too caught up in the moment, and looked away a bit awkwardly. Michael’s fists clenched and flexed by his sides.

He couldn’t rush her - but gods, he needed an answer! it was killing him not knowing where her head was at. He didn’t know if he was hanging on for a false hope.

There was a long, strained silence - then Meg turned, and jerked her chin.

“Come on.” Her voice cracked a little, and she swallowed hard. “While you idiots were wasting time, we found a way across. Over on the other side the slope down is a lot gentler.”  
  
She looked at Michael again, just for a second - then turned and walked away. Lindsay trailed after her; her smile had faded and she glanced back at Gavin a few times, who stood shellshocked.

The two men glanced at each other and Michael finally had the chance to register just what’d happened.

It was a good kiss.

Sure, Gavin was clearly clumsy and inexperienced, but… well, you couldn’t deny he was a fucking attractive guy. There was just something - endearing, about how he’d let Michael take the lead, and how tentative and nervous he’d been. About the gentle brush of his hand across Michael’s cheek. He’d enjoyed it more than he’d thought. It wasn’t purely mechanical.

_Guess he’ll make someone lucky someday_ , he thought, more grudgingly than he liked to admit. And the way Gavin’s cheeks flushed as he realised Michael was staring at him now was so fucking adorable that it made his stomach twist.

“So how was it?” he demanded, gruffly.

He saw Gavin swallow.

“Good,” he stammered. “It was - really good. You’re very good.”  
  
“Pretty limited vocabulary there, Gav,” Michael said - then couldn’t help his grin. “But I’ll take that as a compliment I suppose.”  
  
“No, I - I couldn’t have asked for better,” Gavin assured him, and smiled. “I get it, now, I think! Thank you, Michael.” He fidgeted, fingers twisting and rolling the fabric of his scarf. “This won’t be awkward, right?”

“Not at all,” Michael said. “Why would it be?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Gavin’s face turned even redder. “Well, good, then.”  
  
Michael smacked him on the shoulder and Gavin stumbled and peered up at him shyly.

“Come on,” Michael said. He grinned and Gavin looked relieved. “Let’s not piss the girls off any more.”  
  
“You don’t think they’re really pissed off, are they?” Gavin asked, as they trotted after Lindsay.

“Why would they be?” Michael challenged, and Gavin sputtered.

“I don’t know. Meg might think we’re peculiar!”  
  
“Trust me, she already thinks you’re _peculiar_ ,” Michael teased. “If she cares, she can let me know. And if Lindsay cares, well, she should let you know too. I don’t see why they should. It’s none of their business what you do with yourself.”  
  
“Lindsay?” Gavin’s eyes widened, and Michael sighed. To be honest, he had no clue how to approach whatever was going on between them. Gavin still seemed oblivious to the fact that his affection for the other woman couldn’t be as simple as just saying he loved her without actually figuring out what that _meant_. You were either friends, or… well, more. Having no clear, defined boundaries was just asking for trouble.

But that was their issue - and for now they wandered on, and he tried not to think about how Gavin’s arm brushed warm against his, or how he liked the look of the other man’s reddened lips and flushed face, the way his hair was sticking up in the back like a duck’s bottom where Michael’s hand had run through it. It was a pure physical chemical response. It meant nothing.

They caught up to the girls and reached the edge of the ravine. Michael came up by Meg’s side and peered over. The decline was steep, but not as much of a sheer drop as there was along the other areas.

“Reckon we’ll need rope?” he asked.

“Nah, we can walk that.”  
  
“I’ll go first,” he suggested, and she nodded. He began to pick his way down carefully - nearly slipping on some loose gravel before he sorted himself out and began to carefully inch his way down, tracing a path along the tree roots and boulders. The climb wasn’t too bad; there were rocks and tree branches to cling to, and as he drew away from the others he was glad to have a few moments to himself - to have something to focus on, to be alone with his own thoughts.

His head was spinning from how fast everything was changing. He kept thinking in flashes of the town dance. Of how he’d seen Meg and Lindsay twirling across the room, and how beautiful both of them had looked. Not just Meg, he realised, treacherously, although his eyes did linger on her and he’d wished he could hold her, too. But Lindsay as well. She’d looked gorgeous all done up like that. It was easy to fall into the trap of just seeing her as the reckless paladin who spoke without thinking and whose fury and strength were unmatched. But in a second, he’d seen under the armour, the sword, the bright hair. She’d been _breathtaking_.

And Gavin, of course. In his arms, against his lips.

Gods, how had this happened? He’d gone from barely getting close to anyone to falling in love with Meg and suddenly having these two Sol freaks thrust into both his life and his personal space! It was all too close for comfort and for a second he felt almost scared. It was overwhelming, how fast everything was changing. He didn’t quite know what to do.

His feet hit solid ground and he jerked and looked around.

The bottom of the ravine was cool and damp. He could hear a trickling creek somewhere in the distance, and the ground was spongey with moss and fungus. A shiver ran down his spine; he got that same crawling, heavy feeling that he associated with Gramarye. It was too dark down here - anything could be lurking in the shadows. He turned and saw the others, silhouetted up above. It looked much further up from down here.

“C’mon!” he called, beckoning. “It’s not too hard!”

He saw Meg turn and say something to them - then they began to descend, one after another. Michael watched closely, calling up now and then to guide them through particularly difficult sections. He could see Lindsay and Gavin clutching each other’s arms now and then to steady themselves.

Meg was leading the way, and she was the first to reach the bottom. Michael moved forward and helped her down; she leaned against him automatically, steadying herself down the last few boulders.

"Thanks,” she said, a bit breathlessly.

“You got it,” he replied, and she looked over at him. For a moment they stared into each others’ eyes, and Michael felt far too naked. He needed her to know that that shit with Gavin was nothing - but she was already turning away, and he looked up and grabbed Gavin next, helping him down.

The guy was way touchier than Michael was used to; he seemed to have no problem with Michael putting a hand on his waist to steady him, or draping himself all over Michael’s shoulders to clamber down. His hand brushed down Michael’s back; it was clearly accidental, but after their kiss it didn’t feel like it. Michael swallowed hard.

_Dear gods, do not get stupid about this. You shouldn’t have kissed him if you can’t handle it._

Why _did_ he kiss him? It had all seemed like a fine idea at the time!

Gavin beamed at him and then jogged after Meg, who had wandered some distance away and was peering around the ravine. Michael saw him chirp out some question while pointing at a bunch of mushrooms; Meg shook her head before replying. She was being far more patient with him than Michael would’ve expected from her.

A sigh made him turn. Lindsay was up on the slope next to him, watching them as well.

“Everything’s all mixed up,” she muttered, and Michael could only nod.

“Guess so.”  
  
“I’m serious. What’s going _on_ with us?”  
  
Michael glanced up at her. Her brows were furrowed and she was making no move to finish descending the slope.

“You like her,” Lindsay ranted, eyes still fixed on Meg, “Does she like you? Who knows! Does she like Gavin? Does Gavin like her? Do _I_ like Gavin? And then out of every possible combination, you two decide to go at it!”

“Hey, it was one kiss,” Michael protested. “He asked for it.”  
  
“I know,” Lindsay said. “It’s fucking weird.”  
  
“Is it, though?” Michael prompted - that didn’t sound like her at all - “Sounds like the sort of crazy idea _you’d_ come up with! He realised the other night how inexperienced he was when he had some awkward with a girl and bailed at the last second.” That made Lindsay’s head snap around, her expression soften. “He wanted to learn.”  
  
“That… does sound like Gavin,” she admitted. “And like me.”  
  
“Yeah, thought you’d be all over the idea. In you guys’ fucked up little heads it sounds very logical I’m sure. You jealous?”  
  
“Of you?” she asked, and he scoffed.

“Hey!”

"I guess I am,” Lindsay admitted. “It’s just- we’ve always done everything together. Why wouldn’t he ask me?” The genuine pain in her voice made it hard to tease her. “I wish he had. I know there’s a lot out there in this world he hasn’t experienced. I just want to help take care of him.”  
  
“Maybe he _needs_ new experiences,” Michael pointed out, softly. “New people. But he’ll always feel safe knowing you’re there for him. You should branch out a bit, too.”  
  
“I don’t have time,” she murmured. “I need to be looking out for him. And what about you, Michael?” she added, “What made you agree to do it?”  
  
“It didn’t mean anything,” he said, but the question had made his chest tighten uncomfortably. 

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “You can just kiss someone and feel nothing?”

“Feelings aren’t a part of it,” he grunted. “Haven’t ever been, until Meg.”  
  
“Well, I couldn’t do it. You know,” she added, finally reaching out and leaning on his shoulder as she made her way down the rest of the slope, “I’ve never kissed anyone either. So you’re all ahead of me now.”  
  
“Wait, really? Not even at the Paladins’ Academy?”  
  
“Nope. I was waiting for the _one_. My duty at the Isle was always calling me, so I never got far enough with anyone.” She nudged him, teasingly. “Maybe I’ll have to ask you, too, huh?”  
  
Michael’s heart pounded. For a second his brain seemed to freeze. She was leaning against him, her body warm, and for a moment he thought of the sun. Her laugh, her smile, her strength. Then she guffawed, and he snapped out of it.

“I’m just joking,” she said. “That’d put Meg’s knickers in a knot!”  
  
Michael scoffed a bit.

“Ask Gavin,” he joked weakly, “He could use the practice.”  
  
“Ha ha,” Lindsay said, but for a second they gazed at the other two. A camaraderie building between them, a warmth that came with being in the same boat. Finally, she nudged him.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go before they get too cosy, huh?”  
  
He nodded, and followed her along. As they walked he felt a surge of affection for her, too, but swallowed it down. He felt weak and fickle, unsure what all this _meant_ , and the forest around them was too dark down here, seemed to hold untold menace - but all they could do was keep moving on.

 

* * *

 

Lindsay was totally not thinking of what it would be like to kiss her best friend. That was not a thing that was happening.

Okay, maybe she was, but look - how could she help it after what they’d walked in on?

She hadn’t seen much, just a glimpse of the two of them locked together, Michael’s hand in Gavin’s hair, Gavin gripping at his shirt - but it was still enough to make her mouth run dry and something hot stir in her stomach.

Jealousy? Maybe. She wasn’t used to seeing Gavin even be friends with someone else, let alone - let alone _that_. But it wasn’t like what she’d felt when she saw him go off with the girl. She didn’t resent _Michael -_ how could she? She liked him a good deal. And she was almost envious of Gavin for getting _that_ \- getting to learn first, getting to have someone take his hand and show him step by step what to do.

Now, in comparison, she felt blundering and inexperienced where before _she’d_ been the one at ease with the world. And the odd thought swam into her head - what _would_ Michael do if she’d asked him to kiss her, too? The question made her more nervous, more _insecure_ than she liked to admit.

_You want to kiss him._ It was a stupid, treacherous thought. _He’s an attractive man, who wouldn’t? And Gavin? You want him too much. Is he just your friend, or is it more?_

Being off the Isle, out of her depth, was making it hard to see clearly.

And in the dim light of the forest, everything seemed odd and foreign. They’d reached a darker part of Gramarye now, and the group pulled closer together almost instinctively as the trees grew thicker together and blocked out the sun. After a time Meg lit a fireball in her palm to help them see.

“Hope no one’s scared of the dark,” she joked, and glanced pointedly at Michael.

“Hey,” he protested, “I’m not scared of the fucking dark.”  
  
“Just scared of ghosts.”  
  
“Are you really, Michael?” Gavin sounded almost delighted. “You believe in ghosts? That’s wicked!”

“Is it?” Michael asked. “I do because they’re real and you shouldn’t mess with them!”  
  
“You’re bloody right, Michael!” Gavin chirped.

Lindsay nodded, fervently.

"That is a sensible position to take,” she declared - Meg let out a loud groan.

“Oh, not you lot too. I should’ve guessed.”  
  
“What do you think happens when we die, Meg?” Gavin asked, pleasantly. “Why, you go to Sol or Anarchy or whatever god your soul is drawn to! Or if you’re wicked you’re sent to the underworld to atone. And if you have unfinished business, well, you float about here until someone sorts you out!”  
  
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Meg said, “You just disappear. _Nothing_ happens.”  
  
“That’s impossible,” Gavin declared with great confidence, “All that you are can’t just turn to _nothing_.”  
  
“Have you ever seen a ghost?” Meg challenged. “No one’s proven they’re real, so as far as I’m concerned, they’re not.”  
  
“We’ve seen ghosts,” Lindsay informed her, “As children Gavin and I saw heaps of ghosts in the jungle, and out at sea, and sometimes around the temple. One time there was this floating coconut.”  
  
“Oh my gods, the floating coconut, I nearly forgot about that!” Gavin cried. “They’re definitely real, Meg.”

“I don’t even want to know,” she snorted. “They’re as real as fairies.”  
  
She glanced at Michael again, teasingly, and he rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I don’t believe in those,” he said. “But ghosts are plausible.”  
  
“Oh, fairies might be real!” Gavin said, “Who knows!”  
  
“Unicorns and dragons too, I wager,” Meg grunted.

“They are definitely possible!” Lindsay cried. She was finding all this talk of the supernatural rather thrilling and half hoped a ghost _would_ pop out of the forest, just to give Meg a fright. “But some monsters are clearly ridiculous.”  
  
“Let me get this right.” Meg turned to her, eyebrow arched. “You believe in some weird ass bear man, fairies, ghosts, unicorns and dragons, but somehow _monsters_ are out of the question?”  
  
“Well, monsters like a giant tentacle beast or something with a thousand eyes would just be silly,” Lindsay said. “But I wouldn’t disapprove of a giant cat of some sort.”  
  
“You’re impossible,” Meg said, but Lindsay thought she saw her lips twitch.

“Well, what about the Fey?” Gavin insisted. “If they’re real then fairies might be too! They’re just like a tiny little scaled down version with wings!”  
  
“Yeah, that’s _completely_ the same thing.” Michael rolled his eyes. “A lot of people don’t believe the Fey ever existed.”  
  
“That’s pure idiocy. There’s more than enough evidence that some sort of civilisation walked this earth millenia ago,” Meg said. “They’ve found old bones, old sites of ritual. Ancient - long gone now - but possessed of a powerful magic. That much is real.”  
  
“Why’d they all die?” Michael asked, curiously. Lindsay couldn’t help wondering if they talked about this much; Meg certainly seemed to know plenty about it.

“No one knows. Wiped out by something, maybe.” In the flickering light of the fireball in her palm, there was something almost ominous to Meg’s face, to her words. Lindsay swallowed. She didn’t know nearly enough to contribute to the conversation, but Gavin piped up confidently.

“The Fey were the first followers of Sol!” he cried. “He gifted them all the elements of the Earth but when they had learned all they could, they all fell asleep and returned to him. And then he sent humans to learn, next.”  
  
“I don’t believe in ghosts or fairies,” Meg said, glancing at him. “But the Fey - that’s history, not fairytale. We learn about it in the college. Some of the old artifacts found on their ritual grounds are extremely powerful - but it was all so long ago there’s no definite answers. Whoever they were, they knew far more about this world than we did.”  
  
A long silence followed this statement. The forest was very quiet, not so much as a bird or the rustle of the wind to be heard.

“Fell asleep,” Michael scoffed, finally, “The fuck’s that all about then.”  
  
“It’s one of his stupid things like the priests of Sol flying into the sun!” Meg said.  
  
“It’s true!” Gavin cried.

“No weirder than what the priests of Anarchy do,” Lindsay added - but that seemed to darken the mood a bit, and the shadows around them seemed suddenly far colder and far darker. There was a frozen pause in which she saw Michael glance around warily and Meg bolster her flame to burn a little brighter.

“Anyhow,” Meg said finally, “The only thing to fear in these forests are bandits and wild animals, and hopefully we’ll encounter none of those.”  
  
“But if we see a unicorn,” Gavin added, “I shall try and tame it!”

“You could, you virgin,” Michael teased, and Gavin went bright red. Lindsay’s heart skipped a beat at the way they looked at each other - teasing but fond. Did Michael even realise how affectionate he looked? Did _she_ even know what she was talking about, with all her limited experience?  
  
But a moment later - when it was her side Gavin fell back to as they kept working, rocking up against her, smiling, waiting for her to back him up - it was too easy.

Too easy to think she loved him. 

Too easy to want him.

Too easy to believe that it would be as simple as everything else was, that the pieces would just fall into place. She’d never looked at Gavin like that, touched him like that, _wanted_ him like that-  until now.

Everything had already changed too much. But when she put an arm around him now, and he leaned into it - she had to wonder how much else he’d go along with. She was afraid to push, and afraid of how much she _wanted_ to. 

And afraid of how it felt like all three of the others were moving on without her, leaving her scrambling to catch up. And Gavin, usually her anchor, was changing too. She’d known who he was on the Isle, known him in and out. But off it, and after she’d been away at the academy for so long?

_Talk to him._ She knew she had to. _Just talk. You can work this out._

_You just need to get a moment alone._

 

* * *

 

By the time dusk hit the forest, all of them were exhausted.

Lindsay hadn’t quite realised until they stopped in Tork the other night just how much she had missed not having to camp outside. The outpost had been alright, but having a real bed, a warm fire and a hot meal at that inn had really kicked it up a notch. Not to mention, you know, walls around them and a roof over their heads. Even that seemed luxurious compared to being out in the open like this. It had started to snow again, and she shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her as she dumped a load of firewood into the pit Michael had dug in the centre of the clearing.

He had since gone off to light torches around the campsite, and nearby Gavin was digging through their bags looking for food. Meg came up by Lindsay’s side, and lit the wood with a touch.

“Nice,” Lindsay said, “Saves us trying to get the flint and steel going.”  
  
Meg nodded. She was smiling slightly and Lindsay took it as a good sign. Things had been easier between them after this morning, and going to explore the ravine together.

“Why fire, by the way?” she added, curiously. “I assume you had a choice what type of magic to learn.”  
  
“It’s always been the element I was most drawn to,” Meg replied.

“Sure you’re not a Sol worshipper as well?” Lindsay teased, and Meg pulled a horrible face at her. “I’m joking! I’m just joking.”  
  
“Well, I’ve never had much of a green thumb,” Meg explained, “So Earth magic was out of the question. Air magic is difficult and requires a patience I don’t have. And you need to be very calm to do water magic.”  
  
“Whereas your hot temper suits fire quite well, I imagine,” Lindsay said, and Meg tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’m a passionate individual, so yes.”  
  
There was a pause. It had been easier to fall into chatting with her than Lindsay had expected. She thought, with a flicker of optimism, that it seemed they were starting to get along.

“I wonder what I’d be good at,” she mused.

“It’s hard to tell. Sometimes it’s not quite what you expect.” Meg was fidgeting, seeming a bit unsure what to do with her hands as she lingered by Lindsay’s side. “You’ve never considered unlocking your magic?”  
  
“Nah, I don’t think it’s for me. Takes a lot of study, doesn’t it? I don’t think I’m smart enough. But Gavin might be.”  
  
“He has no mana,” Meg said. “He couldn’t cast a spell if he tried. I have no clue what sort of magic he’s got or how he can harness it. Hopefully Ramsey will have answers for us.”  
  
“Hopefully,” Lindsay murmured.

A silence fell as they watched Michael walk up to Gavin and bend over to talk to him as he began throwing preserved meat into a pot with a few other ingredients. There was something too easy about the way Michael’s hand fell down to Gavin’s shoulder and Gavin looked up at him with a smile.

“About what we saw before,” Lindsay blurted out - Meg looked over at her, and she suddenly realised she had no idea where she was going with this. “You… you don’t think it’s strange?”  
  
Meg bit her lip, but as Lindsay stared at her, her face softened.

“Strange that Michael said he loved me then decided to go at it with Gavin? I can’t deny I have questions,” she admitted. “But honestly, Gavin’s so fucking weird that nothing surprises me at this point. You too.”  
  
Lindsay snorted a bit - then, to her surprise, Meg reached out and briefly touched her arm.

“I’m going to go talk to Michael,” she whispered. “We need to check the perimeter. You should talk to Gavin. Seems like you two aren’t quite on the same page right now - and I’m guessing that’s new for you.”  
  
There was something oddly gentle and understanding in her voice, and Lindsay nodded.

“Yeah… yeah,” she admitted. “I think it’s been too long since we had a proper chat.”  
  
“Us too,” Meg said, and smiled. She turned away and Lindsay settled down by the fire. She watched as Meg walked over to Michael and jerked her head towards the dark treeline.

“Hey - let’s scope out the area.”  
  
Michael hesitated, a flash of vulnerable uncertainty crossing his face. But then he nodded, and the two of them walked away together. Lindsay beckoned Gavin; he trotted over and plopped down next to her, reaching out to put the pot over the fire. She made sure her sword was in reach as she settled back on the ground. The clearing felt very, very silent with the other two gone.

“Weird to go from their prisoners to this, isn’t it?” she pointed out. “Leaving us alone like this, not keeping an eye on us… but it’s good to be alone for now.”  
  
“You don’t like them?” Gavin asked, turning to her.

“I like them,” Lindsay said, “But it gets tiring having no privacy.”

“True.” He shifted closer to her and she leaned against his side. It was cold in the forest and it was nice to feel the warmth of his body. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy this.

“Hey,” she said eventually - the word slipped out naturally, easy in the silence. “Can we talk?”  
  
“Sure,” Gavin replied. “About what?”  
  
“It’s not like you to kiss someone out of the blue.” She was glad her voice came out soft and calm, no accusation in it. “You’re usually a lot shyer than that. It’s not like you to just go off with some girl, either.”  
  
“Yeah,” Gavin admitted, and looked down. It was a long moment before he spoke again, but Lindsay waited patiently. She could tell he was gathering his thoughts. “I just - there’s so much out here, Lindsay. More than I ever imagined. The cities, the people… I won’t forget my duty, but I’m realising there’s so much I’ve missed out on. So much that I want. When you used to leave to train at the academy… I was lonely without you. Jealous, sometimes, of all you were doing out there. It’s bad timing, I know, now that our destiny’s finally in motion, but I just - what if I never get the chance after this?”

“Gavin,” she whispered, heart aching, “After this there’s no Isle to go back to. You’ll be staying here.”  
  
“But who knows what'll happen, what else I may need to do out here? I don’t know.” He looked away, tracing a finger through the melting snow on the ground. “I just want to grab the chance while I have it.”  
  
Lindsay stared at the side of his face - his sharp cheekbone, the dark shadows under his eyes. She looked at him, and realised he was a stranger. She was used to the shy, innocent little Gavin she’d known growing up - but he was older now, with an adult’s needs and wants. Gavin had always been a boy to her, the boy who’d grinned a gap-toothed smile at her when she first arrived, who she’d built countless sandcastles with, who’d held her hand as he led her around the Isle. But somewhere along the line, he’d become a man.

And she’d grown up, too.

And out here, she suddenly had no idea how they fit together.

She’d been silent too long; Gavin noticed, and his shoulders stiffened.

“Do you think that’s selfish?” he asked, worriedly.

“No, Gavin.” Her heart wrenched again; she rubbed a hand down his arm. “You’ve given up your whole life for your destiny. It’s not selfish at all. I’m just - worried.” _Worried, or jealous?_ “You know if you… if you need anything, I’m here, right?”

“Lindsay, of _course_ ,” he replied, warmly. “I never doubted that.”

He patted her shoulder, happily, and she fought not to drop her face into her palms. That… wasn’t quite what she’d meant. She wanted them to learn all this new stuff _together_ , the same way they’d learned history and geography together, heads bent over the same books in the little schoolroom back on the Isle - the same way they’d learned the rituals of Sol together, the same way they’d learned to sail and swim. But she didn’t know how to articulate it, and the mere thought of trying was suddenly terribly embarrassing. 

But before she could say _anything_ , a twig suddenly snapped in the forest behind them, and her head whipped around.

“What was that?”  
  
“Probably the others returning,” Gavin said, unconcerned, and leaned forward to stir his pot. But some instinct had made all the hair stand up on the back of Lindsay’s neck, something that told her there was still danger around. She reached for her sword, and slowly got up, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Lindsay?” Gavin asked - staring quizzically up at her, oblivious - she turned with narrowed eyes, scanning the dark shadows of the trees beyond the clearing, flickering in and out of illumination in the torchlight-

A flash of movement in the corner of her eye made her whip around, just in time to see an arrow hurtle past them and bury itself in a nearby tree.

“Gavin!” she yelled - the adrenaline was pumping in a second, and she grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Behind me!”

Another arrow whistled through the air but she dragged them both sideways and spun around, heart racing. _Sol save us, what the fuck is happening_ now?

She could see motion in the trees - and then, with a roar, a dozen men and women burst from the undergrowth. They wore leather armour and animal furs and from the rough weapons they carried and the sheer amount of filth and grime they were covered in, she could tell instantly that these were no bounty hunters. They were from Gramarye.

_Bandits_.

“Shit, shit,” she hissed, and shoved Gavin further behind her. “Gav, run! Get to Meg and Michael!”  
  
“I’m not leaving you!” he protested, and she saw him scrunch his face up, straining - it took a second to realise that he was trying to draw on the Flame, to use it to effect an escape just like he had that first time. But nothing happened and a moment later she ran forward to meet blades with the one charging towards them.

_Too much. There’s too much_. Too many men, too much going on - she had no clue how many archers there were and could barely focus on the one she was fighting let alone anyone who might be shooting at her - she heard someone knock over the pot, saw a flaming arrow speed by - with a _clash_ her sword met the other man’s, and she was distracted blocking three of his blows before she saw an opening and cut him down.

It was easier, this time, to feel her blade cut through flesh and watch him fall.

In the corner of her eye she saw Gavin run - but another bandit flanked him and hurled a small, weighted net at him. It caught him around the legs and he fell, hitting the ground in a tangle.

“Gavin!” Lindsay cried. She backed towards him but two more were advancing on her - she blocked one swing and was forced to leap backwards as the second thrust towards her, driven desperately back under the force of their blows. One of them stumbled as their swing didn’t connect and she took the chance to lunge forward, her sword sinking through their stomach. She swung it back around instantly and knocked the other woman’s sword from her hand in a neat parry; she stumbled to her knees and Lindsay’s sword made for her throat when a yell made her freeze.

“Drop it, or he dies!”

She turned slowly. The bandit had hauled Gavin to his knees and was standing behind him, sword pressed to his throat, a thin rivet of blood running down his neck. The sight made her stomach sink; his head was tilted back, eyes huge.

_Come on, come on, come on_. She waited for that miraculous flash of light - but nothing happened. Had it all been a fluke that first time?

“Clock’s ticking, sweetheart,” the guy growled, and she heard Gavin hiss in pain as the blade dug deeper into his throat. Without a second thought she lowered her sword; with a furious growl the woman knocked it from her hand and got to her feet, moving to grab her own weapon.

A heavy blow against the back of Lindsay’s shoulder made her stumble and fall to her knees, pain exploding through her arm. Someone behind her had struck her with the pommel of their sword; a second kick to her kidney made her gasp and fall to her hands and knees. And then more blows were raining down on her head and shoulders; she raised her arms weakly to fend them off.

Gavin shouted dimly in the distance, but a blow to the side of Lindsay’s head left her dazed and reeling. She felt her arms be grabbed as she was dragged towards the campfire.

_Fuck_ , she realised - a pained shout from Gavin reaching her ears - these guys weren’t being careful not to hurt them like Meg and Michael had been. They had no clue who they were or that Taurin wanted them.

“-kill them,” a woman was saying harshly, “They killed-”  
  
“They said there’s others in the forest. He was trying to run. Wait for them.”

_Shit_ , she realised - but as her head cleared a little she could only hope that Meg and Michael managed to outsmart these guys - and realised, with a confidence she hadn’t quite known was there, that she wasn’t quite as afraid as she might otherwise have been. That she _trusted_ them to.

 

* * *

 

Michael felt horribly nervous as they trudged through the forest, his stomach twisting, hands clutching his sword and torch tightly to keep from shaking. He could only assume Meg wanted to talk - why else would she pull him away like this? But beneath the tension was a jittery relief. At least she was making a move, at least _something_ was gonna happen.

The snow crunched beneath his feet with each step. It was coming down fast now, and he hoped they could get North quicker than the bad weather was coming on. He knew that in the dead of winter, some parts of the land became completely impassable.

Then again, it seemed they’d never be without fire and warmth with both Meg and Gavin around.

“So,”  Meg said finally, when they’d completed about half their perimeter check.

“So,” Michael replied, and dared to look up. Meg had her hood up, but her hair was pulled out of her face and he was struck once again by how beautiful she was - the curve of her cheek, her dark lashes. Even tired and hungover, even pale with cold. She looked back at him and gave a weary smile.

“You’re perfectly capable of telling someone to fuck off, and you’re definitely not one to go around kissing people willy nilly - so what was that with Gavin?” she asked. Michael’s stomach sank, and it must’ve shown on her face, because she raised a hand quickly. “Not judging! You can do what you like! I’m just - curious. Usually your walls don’t go down so fast.”

Michael reached up to rub at his temples. Honestly, there was no easy answer, yet at the same time things almost seemed _too_ simple.

“Yours either,” he said finally. “Somehow, I  - I think you can understand. I’ve seen you two talking and I know you can see it too. Things are different with him. He’s not like anyone else we’ve met out here. Maybe ‘cause he’s from the Isle, but it’s just - different.”  
  
“I know what you mean,” Meg admitted, quietly. “And… and if it was just a kiss, I wouldn’t even be bringing this up, but… it’s not just a kiss, is it, Michael?”

A cold shock ran through his body; he froze, mid-step.

“What do you mean?”

“The way you look at him.” Meg fidgeted, her usual poise momentarily shattered. “It’s not…”  
  
“Not what?”  
  
“It’s not like he’s just a friend.” The words came out in a stumbling rush. “It’s like you _want_ him. I don’t know if you even realise it, but it’s clear to me.” She swallowed. “And - the way you look at Lindsay, too.”

Each word seemed to stab at him. He was shaking his head furiously before he even realised it.

“I don’t,” he insisted. “You’re wrong.”  
  
“Michael, you know I wouldn’t be saying this for no reason. You’ve known me for years, I don’t make shit up - I don’t start drama just for the sake of it! But this is what I _see_.”

It was true. She’d always been good at reading people. Michael’s heart was hammering so fast he could barely breathe, and even that was enough to make him realise there had to be _something_ in what she was saying. 

Meg took a shaky breath.

“You’re interested in them, one way or another,” she said. “And it… complicates things.”  
  
“Meg.” His voice came out soft and pained, but finally he managed to move - to reach out to her, touch her cold hand gently. “My intention has never been to make you feel like you’re running out of time to make a choice, make you’re jealous, act like I could have any of the others if you turned me down. That’s not why I kissed him.”  
  
“I know, Michael,” she said, kindly, “I would never think that of you. This isn’t your fault.”

“And you’ve thought about… us?” he barely dared ask, but to his relief, Meg just nodded.

“I have, Michael,” she said, and paused, swallowing. She looked scared, and Michael wished he could put his arms around her, comfort her. It was so rare that he saw her look this unsure of herself. “I… I think I like you as well,” his heart hammered faster, “But I’m scared and I’m… I’m just not _sure._ I’m scared of ruining what we have. I’m scared that I might be mistaken and I’ll be giving you false hope. And I’m scared that with Lindsay and Gavin, things are changing too fast.”  
  
“So what do you want to do?” Michael whispered.

“I wish I knew,” Meg said, miserably. “I know it’s not fair to you-”

“Or to you,” Michael added, and Meg nodded, lowering her head.

“Once we get to Ramsey,” she said quietly, “Once we have a chance to just _stop_ and breathe, maybe we can… can see what happens. Where this might go. We can try things out with no expectations. But out here in Gramarye, we can’t be distracted.”

It was a lot more than Michael had expected and he had to fight back a wide grin. He nodded, heart thrumming now at the thought that perhaps she felt the same way, that she might want this too.

“Can I give you a hug?” he asked, because she still looked too small and uncertain, and Meg scoffed out a laugh and held out her arms.

“Of course, idiot.”

He moved forward and pulled her into an embrace, arms wrapped tightly around her, her face pressed against his shoulder. The snow-quilted forest was quiet around them, Meg soft and warm in his arms, and he took in a shaky breath.

_You’re not losing her or anyone, no matter what happens._

He felt her squeeze him back, and when they pulled apart she looked relieved, smiling warmly at him - he smiled back, feeling far more settled than before.

“Come on,” she said, “Let’s get back to the others, it’s getting too cold out here.”

 

* * *

 

Something was wrong, Michael could sense it as they approached the camp. He could see the glow of the firelight through the trees but it wasn’t as strong as it should be, and there was no reason Lindsay and Gavin should’ve put any of the torches out. He raised a hand, indicating Meg should approach carefully, and as they inched forward he saw the shadow of an unfamiliar form moving in the clearing. His heart sank.

“Someone’s in the campsite,” he whispered, and saw Meg’s eyes widen in alarm.

They crept closer and he frowned as he heard raised voices. Crouched in the bushes just at the edge of the shadows, he frowned. He couldn’t see Gavin and Lindsay from here, but a number of bandits were standing, staring out at the forest with their weapons drawn, clearly waiting for someone.

“Meg, get ready to come from behind,” he said, and she nodded and transformed quickly into a bird. He watched her fly away before taking a deep breath and drawing his sword. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t fear of the bandits. They could deal with bandits, had before - they were often under-resourced, here in Gramarye, without proper armour and often relatively untrained.

But Gavin and Lindsay... if they’d been caught by surprise...

_Stop it. You need to be focused. They’re probably fine_.

He tried to creep around the side of the clearing, but an unlucky patch of dried leaves crunched underfoot and the bandit on guard whipped around.

“Who goes there?”

“Shit,” Michael whispered - he could only hope Meg was already in position, and raised his sword, stepping into the firelight. As he got closer he realised that the bandits had dragged all their belongings into a pile. He made out Lindsay, kneeling next to it. Her head was lowered and he could see her arms were bound behind her back. One eye was bruised and swollen, and there was blood caked down the side of her face. He felt a surge of worry - then hot, protective anger. His grip tightened on his sword, thirsty for blood, ready to charge forward and cut the bandit group to pieces without a second thought.

The group advanced in a circle around him. A whimper made him turn - one of them was dragging Gavin forward by the hair, a dagger held to his throat. His neck was already covered in dried blood and his eyes were wide and afraid. Michael swallowed hard - chest aching with how angry he was, how fucking furious it made him to see the others hurt.

“Drop your sword,” the man grunted, “Or I slit his damn throat.”

Gods, he’d have to be careful here. He glanced across at Lindsay and saw her lift her head. Their eyes met for a second and he was glad to see a defiant flash in them - as beaten down as she was, he gave her a small nod and knew she’d be ready when the time came. A flutter of birds’ wings on the other side of the clearing made a few of the bandits turn, but none of them gave it a second thought. People rarely did.

“Gavin,” he said - Gavin stared at him, eyes huge. “Don’t worry, it’s gonna be fine.”

He saw the man holding Gavin pull his lips back in a snarl - but before he could say anything, there was a flash of movement, and his eyes turned wide. A string of blood ran from his mouth, and then his arms were falling away from Gavin, the dagger clattering to the ground, and he crumpled with a knife in his back. Meg strode from behind him, streams of fire already shooting from her hands towards the bandits. Lindsay stumbled upright and crouched by her sword, lying in their pile of bags. She began sawing the ropes around her hands.

Michael charged forward, where two of the bandits were moving towards him. He stabbed one through the stomach, and met the other in a flurry of furious blows before he finally got an opening and kicked the man’s sword from his hand before cutting his throat without a second thought.

He whirled around. Lindsay was free now, and taking on another bandit - Meg had killed two more and was weaving bolts of fire between her hands, blasting them at two others. As he watched, one took a fireball to the chest and crumpled; she pulled out a dagger and stabbed the other when he came at her-

“Fuck!”

Pain speared through his arm and he stumbled back, hand clamped over the wound - an arrow had grazed his arm, deeply enough that blood seeped through his fingers - he spun around and met the eyes of an archer in the bushes, bow raised and another arrow pointed straight at his heart.

It felt like the moment lasted forever as they stared at each other, frozen. He saw the woman’s fingers tremble on the nocked arrow.

Then Gavin rose with a cry and stumbled towards her, thrusting his hands out, and the next thing Michael knew, there was another flash of white light.

It wasn’t as bright and blinding as the first had been. He saw it burst forth from Gavin’s body, a physical ripple of light that struck the woman in the bushes and made her drop her bow and stumble, clutching her head, before she collapsed to the ground. She was the only one caught in the beam, but it distracted the other bandits; Lindsay cut another down, Meg killed her opponent before thrusting a palm towards the fallen archer and blasting her with one final bolt of fire that had her falling completely still.

And then there was silence.

For a moment they all stood, breathing heavily. Michael looked frantically around, searching for any final bodies hidden in the shadows - but none materialised, and he realised with a jolt that they had won. The adrenaline was still racing through his blood and it made it impossible to relax.

Then Gavin turned, and for a second Michael couldn’t breathe. His eyes were glowing a blinding white, so bright it hurt to look at - like staring into the sun. He’d grown used to Meg’s magic, but for a second, the sheer unnaturalness of it took his breath away, and he stood frozen-

But in a moment, it faded back to Gavin’s usual green, and he saw the other man’s face crumple. He ran forward and practically collapsed into Michael’s arms, and hugged him tightly. Michael dropped his sword and hugged him back, instinctively, one hand coming up to the back of his head, arms wrapped tightly around him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “We got them all. You’re fine. It’s gonna be fine, now.”

He could feel Gavin trembling, and squeezed him tightly. The ridiculous urge struck him to kiss the top of Gavin’s head; he pushed it away, turning to look at the others.

Meg was moving to Lindsay’s side, hand on her arm as she checked her over then cut the last of the ropes from her wrists. He saw a genuine concern in her face, a genuine affection, and when she looked over and met his eyes he saw that same fierce, protective fire in her gaze, and knew she’d been just as angry as he was. Knew, then, that this wasn’t just about the money for her either, not now. He wondered where this left them - but they’d sort themselves out in a minute; for now he stood, hugging Gavin close, waiting for him to stop shaking.


	11. Chapter 11

Meg couldn’t help but feel awkward as she sponged the blood off Lindsay’s face. Now that the adrenaline had faded and the forest was once again still and silent, she was confronted yet again with how strange it was that it was no longer just her and Michael, but all four of them.

And it wasn’t even that she disliked them. If anything, that would’ve made it easier.

No, it was the fact that for split second back there - when she saw Lindsay covered in blood and Gavin on his knees with a knife to his throat - when she realised that she had to be the first to strike and one wrong move could mean they’d end up bleeding out on the forest floor - she’d been _terrified_. Usually she operated well under pressure, but for a moment the sheer weight of what they were doing bore down on her, and she’d hesitated before throwing the dagger, for a second horrified that Gavin’s life was in her hands.

She hadn’t realised how much she cared until that moment. Until the sight of the two of them beaten and bound had made her feel cold all over with sheer fury, until she’d wanted to tear apart the group of bandits until nothing remained for daring to lay a hand on them. Not just Gavin, but Lindsay, too.

Now her hand trembled a little as she wrung out the bloody rag. Lindsay’s eye and jaw were bruised and swollen - the bruises from her initial tussle with Meg had just been starting to heal. It’d been a long time since Meg patched up anyone other than Michael or herself, and her heart was pounding. When Lindsay reached out and put a hand on her wrist, she jumped.

“Hey,” Lindsay said, quietly, “You alright?”  
  
“I should be asking you that,” Meg replied, looking up.

“I’m tough,” Lindsay said, with a little smile, “I can take a licking. I was more scared that they’d hurt Gavin.”  
  
The sincerity in her voice was admirable, and Meg paused - lowering the cloth and looking up to meet Lindsay’s earnest green eyes. She swallowed hard, not quite wanting to admit just how worried she’d been - scared of that vulnerability.

“But you killed him,” Lindsay continued, “That guy who had a knife to his throat.”  
  
“I wasn’t gonna let him get hurt.” Even her voice came out a little too fierce, and Lindsay smiled.

“I know,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I would’ve done the same. And I would have been a lot more scared if you two weren’t out there. But I figured you would come back. And that you’d be more than capable of handling bandits, right?”

The warm trust in her voice had not a sliver of doubt in it, and Meg looked down, feeling oddly flustered. As much as it was hard for her to trust people, it was equally odd to feel others trusting her. She liked it, but the responsibility made her chest feel tight.

“Yeah, well,” she managed, “I owe you one for the bounty hunters earlier.”  
  
“No you don’t,” Lindsay said instantly. “We don’t owe each other - it doesn’t work like that. I helped you because I wanted to. Because you’re my friend, and they were bad people. Not ‘cause I wanted to rack up a debt.”  
  
“Right,” Meg murmured.

“Just like you don’t owe Michael for all the times he had your back,” she pointed out, and Meg bit her lip.

“I guess so,” she admitted, grudgingly. She wished she didn’t feel so embarrassed to be vulnerable, it was just - _weird_. Lindsay was far from a stranger at this point, but Meg still felt weaker than she liked.

“But still,” Lindsay added, seeming to sense her awkwardness and abruptly switching topics with a big grin, “Thank you for taking those guys out.”  
  
“All good,” Meg replied, and looked up. She managed a small smile, and Lindsay smiled back, and before she knew it she felt herself adding, “I talked with Michael, before. We’re… working things out.”  
  
“That’s good,” Lindsay said. “I wish it was that simple with Gav.”  
  
“You’ll get there,” Meg said. She was surprised how nice it was - having someone to talk things like this over with. She looked over, Lindsay following her gaze. Gavin and Michael were sitting across the clearing. Michael had been patching him up, but now Gavin was staring down at his hands, turning them over and over. Meg remembered the flash of light - smaller this time, but still a type of magic like she’d never experienced before. Now that it wasn’t directed at her, she wanted to examine it more. She rose, and held out a hand, pulling Lindsay to her feet. For a moment they stood, examining the dead bodies around them.

“Alright?” she asked, seeing Lindsay’s face twist.

“Yeah,” Lindsay said, and took a deep breath. “Getting used to it. Wish I wasn’t, but that’s how the world is off the Isle, I guess. Bandits and tyrants.”  
  
Meg was inclined to agree, but for a second she hesitated, thinking, _paladins and priests, too._ She thought of Gavin giving that old beggar money. Part of her still thought it was stupid, but another part felt nothing but fond as she looked over at him - his funny little puzzled frown.

Lindsay shook herself and walked over. Gavin looked up and moved to meet her. They’d rushed to each other earlier, but they moved to hug a second time now. She saw Lindsay run a hand down his cheek and murmur something before turning away and motioning for Michael to help her. They began dragging the bodies into a pile, and Meg caught Michael bending to search them for anything useful. Might as well loot them for coin or anything else they could use - why not?  
  
She wandered over to Gavin, who was unwinding his scarf from around his neck and staring at it with a grimace. He looked up when she approached and gave a small, sad smile.

“There’s blood on it,” he said, holding out the cloth.

She leaned over to look. It was hard to see, in the flickering firelight and against the black fabric, but sure enough, there was blood on the scarf. His own, she thought, from where the blade had cut at his neck. Or maybe the bandit’s, spattered over him when she knifed him in the back.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m good at getting blood out of clothes.”  
  
Gavin laughed a bit awkwardly, and Meg couldn’t help but reach out and squeeze his arm. Feel him next to her, warm and solid and _alive_ and _here_.

“You okay?” she whispered. “That must’ve been scary.”  
  
She saw his throat bob as he swallowed. Michael had done a good job cleaning him up, but there was still an angry red line where he’d been cut. She averted her eyes - hated the sight of it suddenly. 

“I’m okay,” Gavin murmured, “It’s just - been hard getting used to the fact that everyone’s out to kill me. Until a few weeks ago no one had any clue I even existed. And these guys weren’t even linked to Taurin!”  
  
Truth be told, Meg was feeling the same way - she’d never been the _target_ of a bounty until recently and hadn’t quite realised just how horrible it felt to have the ever looming, menacing shadow of someone hunting you - to have to watch your back lest you fall victim to an arrow or a knife flying from nowhere. It made her feel far too vulnerable. She was glad to have left the city behind.

“There are bad people out here,” she murmured, “But that’s why it’s good to stick in a group.”  
  
“Why would they just attack us, though?” Gavin’s eyes were wide and almost hurt. “We never did anything to them.”  
  
Meg hesitated. She didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him, and suddenly realised she didn’t _want_ to shatter the hopeful innocence in his eyes. She found herself inching closer, and looped her arm through his, pulling him close for a moment.

“Some of them come from hard lives and don’t know any better. Some are just greedy and want money any way they can get it. Some are criminals on the run, some have a taste for violence… everyone might start out with the chance to do good, Gavin, but not everyone makes the right choice.”  
  
He made a sad noise, and Meg pulled at him.

“Come on,” she said, “Let’s pack up the campsite. We’ll find another spot for the night. Best to keep moving on.”  
  
“Yeah,” he whispered, and when she squeezed his arm he looked down and gave a small smile. She let go of him, feeling a bit embarrassed - but as always Gavin somehow avoided making it awkward, just beaming at her like a silly little puppy before scrambling off to shovel snow over the fire. She watched him go, heart aching.

_The way Michael looks at him…_

_And Lindsay…_

_And you, you can’t deny you’re fond of him. What would you have done if that bandit killed him? No more chosen one, nothing for Taurin to take…_ she was startled to find herself at a loss. What was left, after all this?

Just the uncomfortable feeling that at some point this entire job had become a lot more important than she realised. They needed to move fast, she thought - no more mucking around, no more wasting time. It was vital that they keep Gavin safe and that meant getting him north as soon as possible.

Then - then there’d be time to breathe, to think, to work things out with _everyone_.

 

* * *

 

The others, Gavin thought, must have gotten a bit of a shock by the sudden and close call that the bandit attack had been.

_He’d_ had a shock, of course - he knew there were people out to kill him, but in the moment it had still been fucking terrifying, and even now he kept jumping at shadows, afraid someone else was going to come up behind him and grab him by the throat. But he’d assumed Meg and Michael would be used to things like that.

Apparently not. They’d whispered together for a bit and now, now they were speeding along to carefully planned points on the map, making deadlines, travelling at night by torchlight. They walked for two hours that night in the dark, Lindsay’s hand clutched tightly in his, and then woke again at the crack of dawn to push on.

He didn’t like those parts.

He wasn’t scared of the dark itself, but Gramarye was different to the Isle. He’d known that place like the back of his hand - known how to navigate back to the cliffs via the distant sound of the sea, known where the jungle was thick and what direction each river flowed. It was hard to be afraid of something familiar.

But now they were moving nearly faster than he could keep up with, and the next few weeks passed in an absolute whirlwind as they not only crossed an immense span of physical distance, but he felt himself fall into the dizzying spiral that came with suddenly spending a lot of time with new acquaintances. After so long with the same people it was a bit of a shock, but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it - learning more about his companions, sharing stories with them in turn, and as far as they were going, the time seemed to fly past as well.

As the snow got heavier they began building make-shift tents against the trees when they stopped for the night. Something about the enclosed space bothered him; he was used to the open air of the Isle where the sleeping rooms were huge and well-ventilated to try and escape the humidity of the tropics. Something about it made the nightmares get worse - made him wake in cold sweats, feeling like someone had thrown a cloth bag over his head, like the air was filled with smoke and the oxygen was fast running out.

Tonight he woke with a lurching gasp after dreams in which the entire jungle burned around him; the air was so black with smoke he could barely see and he couldn’t find his way out as trees toppled around him. The final image his disturbed mind conjured before he jolted upright was a parrot flying towards him, shrieking, its wings on fire.

He felt feverish now and too hot. The Flame was burning in him and he clawed at his chest, needing to get out from under the blankets. He clambered away from Lindsay, passed out next to him after another day of hard travel, and burst out into the cold night.

Snow had fallen thickly around them and it crunched under his boots as he stumbled forward and fell to his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Cold air hit his face, hands, every sliver of exposed skin like a slap, but he relished it. It made him feel alive and awake and like he could actually _breathe._

“Gavin?”  
  
Meg had been on watch. He heard her approach, saw her shadow fall over him. A second later she was crouching by his side and he felt a hand hesitantly fall on his shoulder.

“Gav?” she whispered, and he closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself with the feeling of the cold air, burning down his throat and into his lungs until it could almost drown out the blazing of the Flame. “You alright?”  
  
“I’m okay,” he said, grimacing at how choked his voice came out. “Bad dreams, that’s all.”  
  
“Must be pretty bad to get you out here.”  
  
“I needed some space.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Her hand was still on his shoulder and he tried to focus on that rather than on how he could feel himself shaking despite still feeling too warm. “I don’t like the tent. I’m not even that cold.”  
  
“You’ll get sick if you sleep out in the snow,” she pointed out, softly. There was a long pause before he finally let out a shaky breath and looked up to meet her eyes. They were gentle, concerned, and he knew he must look like shit - as exhausted as the rest of them, scruffy and unshaven with dark wells under his eyes.

“Want to talk about it?” she offered after a moment, and Gavin bit his lip.

“Not really,” he replied, and didn’t miss the flash of disappointment that flickered over her face. He quickly added, “Not… not right now at least.”

There was too much to say.

Too much he’d _lost_ , too much that had gone into a lifetime of being prepared to carry the entire world on his shoulders. He couldn’t put the words together right now - not when he was dizzy with exhaustion and disoriented from the bad dream. He felt like there was no time to stop and grieve because if he let a single thing slip the rest would all come crashing down and falling apart, and they didn’t have time for that.

“Okay,” Meg said, and pulled at his shoulder. “Well, want to sit up with me? I have the rest of the watch until morning.”  
  
Gavin nodded. He let her pull him to his feet and managed a small smile as he looked over at her - small, fierce Meg who somehow managed to make him feel so safe after everything she’d done to get them here. He followed her to the log she’d been sitting on, settling down by her side, and leaned into her touch as she rubbed a hand over his back. It was far from the same as being back home - _home_ where he knew every inch of the island, where he felt comfortable and safe, where he knew the priests who’d raised him with soft voices and gentle hands were just a shout away - but it was comforting in a new, different way. 

They moved on.

The forest thickened, turning to rocky slopes and more ravines, but Meg and Michael seemed to know where they were going. Some days they seemed to barely budge on the map that Michael charted their progress on, spending hours doing nothing but pick their way over tangled tree roots and steep inclines until their muscles were aching. But they passed through and eventually the terrain opened again into clearer land. Now Gavin could see the steady progress they were making, further and further north until they were almost at the edge of Gramarye.

Some nights, now, when they weren’t so exhausted, they’d take up the sword lessons again. The blade still felt unfamiliar in Gavin’s hand but as he built up muscle it became easier to swing. He liked the times when he and Lindsay would spar - she held back, he knew, going gently and more slowly on him so he actually had a chance to retaliate - it felt like a dance as their swords met again and again, and it was nice because it gave him a sense of the things Lindsay had learned while she was away. It’d felt a bit like they were strangers, sometimes - when she’d left as a girl and returned as a woman, when they’d had to catch each other up on months apart after previously spending every day of their lives together. And it’d been even weirder after he left the Isle and she’d become the one taking the lead.

Now, it felt like a way to connect again, as she eagerly explained the same tactics and drills she’d learned at the academy, and their old, familiar childhood rivalry of too many card and ball and puzzle games sprang back up; with Lindsay he wasn’t shy to at least _try_ and fight even if he was clearly outmatched, and their sparring sessions sometimes devolved into wrestling matches in the sloppy mud and melted snow of the forest floor.

He felt like he was seeing her in a new light.

Not as Lindsay, the little fire-haired girl he’d grown up with, but Lindsay the woman, Lindsay the Paladin, the warrior-servant of Sol - in the glow of the evening light with her sword flashing like a bright star, a fierce look on her face - with each swing of her movements so precise and controlled… he couldn’t help but admire her.

Couldn’t help but stare as she did her own drills, and wonder just when she’d gotten so strong-

Couldn’t help but relish the times they did end up close, usually with Lindsay winning a fight and managing to pin him down - the way her face twisted gleefully as she laughed and her hair, hanging around her face, tickled at his neck where she was pressed close against him-

It made his stomach twist in knots and butterflies dance in his chest in a way they never had before. Growing up they’d been so close that they barely thought about it when they touched each other. Now he was too conscious of everywhere Lindsay’s hands brushed against him - how they left a foreign, blazing heat against his skin. 

“You’re really good,” he found himself murmuring, after one of the many times she knocked his sword clean from his hand. His wrist ached from the impact but he barely noticed, too busy staring at the way her eyes crinkled when she grinned, bending to pick up the fallen weapon.

“Thanks.”  
  
“No, I’m serious. Like, I know I’m shit, but you’re so fast. And strong. You must’ve worked really hard on your training. It paid off.” He didn’t know why he was suddenly so desperate that she _know_ \- but when she looked over and met his eyes, something of it must’ve shown in his face; her cheeks turned red and she looked away.

“Thanks, Gav,” she murmured, and Gavin bit his lip, unsure why the sight of her so flustered made his own heart skip faster.

It was different with Michael.

The other man seemed to have dropped some of the guilt that’d made him so careful with Gavin earlier; he didn’t think twice now about calling him a “fucking idiot” or “clumsy piece of shit” or “butter-fingered big nose”. But there was always a grin playing at his lips, a barely suppressed chuckle in his yelling, and Gavin was surprised by how much he found himself wanting to make Michael laugh. He felt like he was a mischievous little child again, started pushing deliberately to rile him up with stupid sword moves, ridiculous questions - getting a funny thrill out of the attention it got him even if it usually came in the form of Michael rough-housing with him, hooking an arm around his neck to tousle his hair or pull his scarf up over his face.

“You’re the worst,” he’d grunt every time, as he manhandled Gavin into the correct form, but Gavin could see the furious twitch at the corner of his lips-

And after their kiss, he was far too aware of every touch. Of how close Michael’s face came to his, or how warm his hands were on Gavin’s wrists. It made him feel a bit breathless and weak at the knees, and he wasn't sure if Michael was aware of it, too. He certainly seemed a bit tense, seemed to be rambling just to fill the silence any time he had to get close to adjust Gavin’s grip or position-

Especially the one time Gavin accidentally turned his head while Michael was leaning in to reposition his hands on the hilt of the sword. He gasped as their cheeks brushed together - they were so close that he felt Michael’s breath against his face when the other man made a muted noise of surprise. In the instant before they both recoiled, a hot flush ballooned through Gavin’s body and he was struck by the sudden urge to turn a little further, press his lips to Michael’s for the second time. To kiss him again and be the one to take control this time - to let himself lose himself once again in the sheer sensation just like he had last time.

Then Michael stumbled back, and Gavin looked away awkwardly - he swung the sword a few times before muttering something about going to cool down and rushing off to grab a drink, too scared to look back and see what look might be on Michael’s face. When he finally dared to glance back over at him, Michael and Lindsay were sparring - he could see a broad, mischievous grin on Lindsay’s face, in the way she was swaying, nearly swaggering towards him. Michael’s own head was thrown back in laughter.

They got on well, it was clear to anyone, and right now it filled Gavin with a brew of feelings he couldn’t anticipate except that they made his stomach clench and his skin tingle.

Two weeks passed, three. 

The dead of winter had hit by now, and even in the clearer parts of the forest everything was dark and miserable. The snow was okay, but Gavin couldn’t stand the rain, and they spent a lot of time miserable and drenched to the bone. Even their makeshift tents couldn’t keep the worst of it off, but one night they were lucky to find a cave in which to sit out the worst of a storm that left the whole forest so wet and dark that they couldn’t go on for fear of being lost.

Gavin was spreading out his clothes to dry near their fire when Lindsay came and sat next to him. 

“I’m cold,” she complained. “We were practically swimming out there.”

“I hope these dry out before tomorrow,” Gavin replied, smoothing out his tunic. “I’m a bit scared to put them too close to the fire in case they set alight. That would be disastrous.”

“We’d have to dress ourselves in big leaves,” Lindsay mused. “That would actually be quite fun.”

“In this weather? Absolutely not,” Gavin chuckled, only to break off when she suddenly leaned against his side. “Um-”

“You’re warm,” she said, “You’re like a walking campfire. Is there something wrong?”

“Of course not,” he whispered, a little embarrassed. After all, he’d never thought twice about cuddling with her before. It just felt different here, in this little cave with the rain thundering down outside - with too much bare skin pressed against each other since they were just in their underthings with their clothes drying out.

“Good,” she said, and Gavin tried to relax even if his heart was suddenly fluttering. He fought not to jump when her hand trailed over his chest suddenly, over the raised bumps and ridges of the scar.

“Does it still hurt?” she murmured.

“No,” Gavin said. “It just looks horrible. At least it’s under my shirt most of the time.”

“It might fade,” she pointed out.

“I don’t think it will on its own, but Meg said magic might be able to heal it.” He felt Lindsay tense a little and wasn’t sure why; she’d been getting on well with the other woman lately. On the whole, the entire group had actually had remarkably few arguments, considering they’d been spending so much time together in such a confined situation. Most of the time it was just laughing at each other whenever someone was accosted by insects or tripped over a tree-root or had to stop the party’s progress to go take a dump in the bushes.

“Can she do it?” Lindsay asked.

“No. She’s not a healer. But you know, I don’t think I want to get rid of it.” He brought his own hand up to touch the scar, shivering a little - his memory of that night was starting to get blurrier; he remembered it in flashes and sensations mostly, which worried him. His mind seemed to refuse to remember the worst bits of it. “I... I like that there’s a reminder of what happened. Of everything we lost and everything that was burned. Aside from us... no one _knew_ the Isle, the priests, not like we did. And the scars inside aren’t gonna go away. You can’t just use magic to erase everything. You shouldn’t.”

“Gav...” Lindsay’s voice was soft and upset. She curled an arm around his waist, shuffling closer to him, and this time he leaned into the contact. Her face pressed against his shoulder and for a second he almost thought he felt her lips brush against his skin - _accidental, probably_ \- he didn’t want to make things awkward, so he pushed the thought aside and wrapped his arms around her as well, hugging her close the way he had a hundred times before, feeling her grow slowly warm from the Flame.

Across the cave, Meg was watching them - Gavin could just make her out in the flickering firelight. He saw her gaze shift to Michael, standing in the cave entrance watching the storm, and could feel the simmering tension. Not an angry tension, almost a sad one. He wished they could hold each other close, too - or that they could all sit together, here, and keep each other warm as the thunder rolled on outside.

 

* * *

 

Reaching the edge of Gramarye came as a much bigger relief than Gavin had expected, after day after day of wandering through its dark, stagnant depths. When they finally broke free from the forest, stumbling into a wide stretch of green grass overlooking fields and farms that stretched out towards the horizon, the sight nearly took his breath away. He froze, squinting in the golden evening light. He hadn’t realise they were so close to the edge.

“Wait, what…” he paused in confusion, disoriented, staring around at the others. “We’re…?”  
  
“Thank fucking Sol.” Michael nudged past him and ran out into the open space, spreading his arms out and tilting his face up to look at the sun. “We’re back in kingsland.”  
  
“Which means we’re back in danger,” Meg warned, but she was smiling too.

Gavin walked forward, turning to look back at Gramarye - the scattered edge of the forest, the darkness inside - then spun back around and stared out at the farmland. They were at the top of a hill that overlooked the pastoral outskirts of a large village. In the distance he could see smoke rising from the town, with neat rows of sowed earth stretching towards it. He could see the faint white dots of sheep in the pastures, and the small moving forms of carts heading back up the road towards the town.

The sight took his breath away. It felt like they’d seen no other living people for weeks, and here in the centre of the continent the winter wasn’t as strong as it had been down south or in Gramarye. The air was cool and damp but it wasn’t snowing. He stared, eyes huge, breathing in the smell of fresh air, recent rain and grass in frantic gulps.

Meg came up next to him, her arm brushing against his.

“Take it in,” she said, “But no one get comfortable. We’re not stopping yet. We’re about halfway to Ramsay and there’s still a long way to go. We need to move even faster now.” She reached out and tugged Gavin’s hood up over his head. “And _you_ need to start hiding your face.”  
  
“But it’s such a lovely face,” Lindsay cut in, and Gavin turned and pulled a horrible expression at her. She pulled one back.

“Oh my gods,” Michael said, pinching Gavin’s side as he walked past him, “Don’t do that. That look makes me want to punch you in the nose.”

“Michael, no,” he simpered, “Protect me!”  
  
He heard Meg groan behind him as he moved forward and shoved at Michael. They tussled, laughing, a childish delight in it as they ran down the sloping hill towards the town-

 

* * *

 

Everything was moving too fast. It seemed like every waking moment they were _walking_ \- passing through town after town and barely stopping to breathe. A whirlwind of people, crowds, buildings, animals, and not enough time to stop and take it all in. They were rushing past all sorts of things - fashion like he’d never seen before, foods he couldn’t pronounce the names of, bar fights and street magicians and roads lined with the homeless.

The others were trying to answer his questions, but there was just no time. He must have thought about a hundred times a day, _gods, I hope we can come back here_ \- but it felt like things were moving even faster now that they weren’t moving through the forest where everything looked the same. Now that it was brick houses, wooden houses, huts with thatched roofs, roads and roads and roads lined with fields filled with crops the likes of which he’d never seen before. They passed through an area that Meg called the wheatbelt, which took his breath away. The sight of the winter sun glinting off fields of golden wheat stretching as far as the eye could see was almost magical.

“Feeling overwhelmed?” Meg asked, when he flopped down next to her one night. They were camped in a field off the side of the road. The wheatbelt in the distance looked like an ocean, shifting and swaying in the night breeze like rolling waves. They’d made springy heather beds just like the characters in all the adventure stories he’d read as a child did when they went camping.

“Just tired,” he admitted. His legs were past aching at this point, but his entire body felt drained and heavy. Meg shot him a small smile.

“We have been on the move for a long time now.”  
  
“I’m not used to travelling this much. And moving north, with the weather changing, and the time… my body’s all out of joint.”  
  
“I wish I could say you get used to it, but you really don’t,” Meg drawled, and he scoffed out a laugh and rolled onto his back.

“Look how many stars there are,” he said with admiration. “And all different to the Isle! I used to know all the constellations but the only one I can see now is the big creeper.”  
  
“The tree of life is over there. See that big star? That’s the root, and if you move up there’s the trunk and the five branches.” She pointed and Gavin followed the elegant line of her arm, trying not to focus on where their knees were bumping together. “And that one’s the tower.”  
  
“I don’t see it.”  
  
“Those are the four corners, see that one? And then the one next to it, and the two down there.”  
  
“I think I see it. You must know the stars all over the land,” he added, sneaking an admiring glance at her. She sighed.

“Unfortunately. I’m used to being on the move.”  
  
“But where’s home for you?”  
  
“Don’t really have one. I have an apartment in Ford, but I wouldn’t call it home since I’m hardly there. The road’s home, I suppose,” she added, a bit wistfully.

“I’ll need to find a new home,” Gavin murmured. “I can’t go back to the Isle.”  
  
“You don’t need to put the Flame back or anything?” she asked, and Gavin pulled a face. That possibility had not occurred to him; he wasn’t quite sure _what_ Ramsey was going to do with the Flame, or if anyone actually knew how to get it _out_.

“No? I don’t know? Gods, I hope not. Either way, I can't live there. Too many ghosts.” He saw the flash of sadness pass across her face - but tonight was not a night he wanted to dwell on such miserable things, and he nudged her side. “What are you reading, anyway?”  
  
“A book on mana.” She seemed grateful for the distraction. “Trying to figure out what the hell’s going on with you.”  
  
“Can I join you? I’d like to learn more.”

Meg looked surprised - but after a moment she nodded, and Gavin settled by her side. She explained things with a patience he was grateful for, something soothing to her presence, out here on this clear night under the stars when he was so close he could smell the scented balm she used on her lips and feel the wool of her cloak against his neck as he looked over her shoulder and they read together.

 

* * *

 

They caught a cart up one of the big northern highways, and it was bloody amazing to be quite honest. It was nicer than the caravan because they could see everything they were passing, and it was the first time Gavin had ever seen a horse up close.

“It’s uglier than I expected,” he commented, lingering cautiously by the beast’s side and staring wide-eyed at its face. “All the illustrations made them seem so handsome.”  
  
“It’s not ugly!” Lindsay cried. “How dare you! It’s so _cute_!”

“But its teeth are so big.” He was scared to touch it, hanging back shyly even as Lindsay began to stroke the great big thing’s neck. “I’m worried it’ll bite me.”  
  
“It’s vegetarian,” Michael said, amused.

“Herbivore,” Meg corrected, and tried to pass him a handful of grass. “Feed it this! But keep your fingers flat or it will think they’re carrots and chomp on them.”  
  
“You’re made me even more scared to feed it,” Gavin said, and watched her shrug and do it instead, the horse nuzzling into her palm. She scratched it behind the ears with her other hand; he watched, mesmerised. “Oh my gods. Look at its big tongue!”  
  
“Just touch it, it’s not that scary!” Impatiently, Lindsay grabbed his hand and put it on the side of the horse’s neck before he could protest. He let out a squeak of surprise - but after a moment he stroked the soft fur tentatively. The horse was very warm, and when he touched its face he could feel its jaw working as it chewed mechanically. He let out a nervous giggle, a smile stretching across his face as he patted it.

When he turned, he found Michael staring at him, an odd, thoughtful look on his face - but it was Lindsay who was closest to him, one hand resting on his shoulder now, and Gavin thought nothing of it. In the whirlwind of everything going on it was a nice moment, one he knew he’d remember.

 

* * *

 

Closer they got to the north, and closer. In the back of the rattling cart as the fields rushed by and the foreign stars raced overhead, Gavin’s thoughts turned to Ramsey, and he began to grow nervous. Their destination had always seemed very far away - but look at them now. This road cut due north and they were actually going to _arrive_ at some point. He was beginning to realise that he hadn’t quite thought this far ahead yet.

_Get to Ramsey,_ was all the priests had said - _he’ll know what to do_. And Gavin had been in such a rush to flee the Isle that he hadn’t given it a second thought.

But now… he’d always been shy meeting new people, let along a _king._ Gods, he’d never even _seen_ a king before, and he thought of himself - funny, alien little creature in shabby clothes with nothing but scars to validate his story. What would they think of him?

“What do you know about King Ramsey?” he heard himself ask.

Lindsay, lounging next to him against a sack of potatoes, sat up a bit, and Meg and Michael exchanged a glance. He saw Michael’s eyes dart to the driver, but the rattle of the cart wheels would drown their voices out well enough.

“His family has ruled the northernmost kingdom for generations,” Michael said finally. “He inherited from his father as a fairly young man - mid-twenties, if I’m remembering right.”  
  
“What’d his dad die of?” Gavin asked.

“The withering illness when there was that big outbreak a while back. Geoff Ramsey was his only son, and the queen had died in childbirth. They’re a huge kingdom,” Michael added, “With a powerful army and a well fortified natural border, but they have no mind for conquest. It’s really pastoral, and they do a lot of fishing.”  
  
“From what I heard he’s a benevolent man,” Meg added. “A bit _too_ benevolent if you ask me. He’s always meeting with his subjects, has a very relaxed court, doesn’t dish out heavy punishment… next to Taurin he looks weak.”  
  
“How does he stay in control?” Lindsay asked, curiously.

“Not sure,” Meg replied, “But from what I understand he has a diverse range of advisers, including a strong magical presence. I assume that’s why the priests wanted you to go there.”  
  
“And he has no link to Sol?” Gavin asked with a frown. The high priests of Sol were in Solaire and he’d wondered for a while why he wasn’t instructed to go _there_ instead.

“I mean, they worship Sol there, but that’s about it,” Michael replied. “You’re sure the priests didn’t tell you anything else?”  
  
“Not that I remember,” Gavin replied, shaking his head. He tried to think back but it was all just - fuzzy, and he bit his lip with frustration. 

“Hey,” Lindsay said, nudging him, and gave a small smile. “Sol will send us in the right direction. Always does.”

“It’s not too hard to get into the kingdom,” Michael said, “But the capital, Achievement City, has strong border security. There’s only one main road in as well - Ramsey’s lucky to be bordered by mountains and the ocean. But if the rumours are true I reckon we should be able to get an audience with him.”  
  
“Oh,” Gavin said.

“What’s _oh_?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know,” Gavin replied, “I was anticipating just sort of being walked in the doors and helped out.”  
  
The others broke into laughter, including Lindsay, and Gavin’s cheeks flushed.

“He’s a king,” Meg said, not unkindly, “And unless he’s somehow already expecting you… well, I think it’s gonna be a _bit_ harder than that. But we’ll figure it out when we get to the city.”  
  
“Have you ever met a king before?” Gavin asked, his stomach twisting just at the thought. The two of them exchanged a glance, and he saw Meg’s face cloud over.

“Only the Warlord,” she muttered, and Gavin felt a chill run down his spine. Taurin was constantly on the back of his mind, was the figure that haunted his nightmares. It hadn’t hit him until now that the others had actually been _close_ to him at one point - close enough to hear his voice, to look him in the eyes.

"What was it like?” he whispered. Beside him Lindsay’s back had gone rigid; she sat up a bit and clenched her fists. In the silence that followed the world seemed a little darker, the night around them colder.

“He’s… powerful, there’s no doubt about that,” Meg said finally. “He’s older than you’d expect. He’s very much a human man, but he’s - he’s got an imposing _presence_ , I suppose. And he’s unlocked his magic.”  
  
“What can he do?” Gavin asked softly.

“I _hope_ he can’t scry,” Meg said, “That takes a lot of skill and he’d need to have a strong connection with you, Gavin, to be able to see where you are at any given time. But I doubt it because he didn’t seem to know too much about you.”  
  
Gods, Gavin wished she hadn’t even brought that up; the thought of Taurin being able to watch over his every move was deeply unsettling.

“He can conjure images,” Meg added, “Other than that… I’m not sure. He must be a powerful mage, though - why wouldn’t he have learned as much as he could, if he’s already gone to the trouble of unlocking his magic? He seems like the sort of man who’ll try and use every possible skill to his advantage.”

“Hopefully Ramsey will have mages who can help us too, then,” Lindsay said, and Meg glanced at her.

“Yeah,” she replied.

An unhappy silence fell. Gavin felt worse than he had before he’d asked, faintly sick, a dread hanging over him that he couldn’t shake off. The hysterical thought hit him that he wished their journey would never end, that they could stay in this funny limbo forever - passing through every new landscape, seeing each new wonder one after another, in each other’s company. But that was ridiculous - not only did he have a job to do, but he was already exhausted from spending every day on the move. He wasn’t sure how much longer of this his body could put up with.

All he was left with was the hope that Ramsey would, indeed, be a kind man, and the answer to all their problems. Above all he just wanted someone to take control of this whole situation. He was already glad Michael and Meg were here because he had no clue what he and Lindsay would’ve done on their own. Walk right up to the palace and knock on the door, probably. Get fucking arrested in the process.

He shook himself.

_That didn’t happen. Things are working out fine so far, aren’t they?_  
  
He took a deep breath and resolved not to think about it. They could deal with that problem once they got to it.

 

* * *

 

“You okay?” Michael asked

Gavin turned as the other man sat down beside him, and managed to muster up a small smile. He knew he’d been quiet all night, and he’d noticed the others shooting him concerned looks. He just couldn’t help it - he was starting to get antsy, had been since they left the highway and continued on through one of the northern kingdoms that bordered Ramsey’s. Now destiny was drawing too close for comfort and even here, in a field under the stars, he couldn’t settle himself. 

"I’m fine,” he replied, “Just… thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”  
  
“That was a low effort joke, Michael,” Gavin said, but couldn’t help his little snort of laughter. It was getting colder now that they were back up north and he shifted a little closer to Michael, seeking his comfort - and was happy when the other man didn’t pull away as Gavin pressed their arms together and then, after a second’s hesitation, rested his head on his shoulder.

“Are you tired?” Gavin asked.

“Constantly,” Michael replied, and Gavin sighed; they all must feel it, the particular type of exhaustion that came with constant travel. Even if Michael travelled for jobs, they must usually stop for breaks in between. He wondered if Michael had a house or an apartment somewhere, too. If he and Meg ever went their separate ways just for a little while between jobs.

“What’s going on with you and Meg?” he asked curiously - he’d been wondering since they seemed to be getting on as normal lately, though still with a hint of tension that spoke of an unaddressed problem.

“We’re waiting for everything to calm down. Once we have room to breathe we’re gonna give things a go and see where they take us.” Michael’s voice rose a little in excitement and Gavin smiled.

“So she likes you then!”  
  
“She _might_ like me. We gotta just… try things first. See if they work.”  
  
“I’m sure she will like you,” Gavin declared, and Michael gave a self-conscious little huff. They settled into silence, but Gavin felt a vague sense of guilt at where his own thoughts took him.

The kiss hadn’t left his mind.

Sometimes when they were walking, when he had nothing to focus on other than putting one foot in front of another, he’d let himself dwell on it. So sue him, it was a pretty milestone moment. His first kiss. He’d remembered it so often he couldn’t actually tell at this point which details were true and which he may have just sort of come up with. 

And he couldn’t help wishing, almost, for another chance. 

He must’ve been staring at Michael a bit too hard, because the other man shot him a curious look before reaching out and ruffling his hair.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Just thinking,” Gavin said - and then swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, before daring to add, “About our… lesson. The stuff you taught me. We’re okay, right?”  
  
He hadn’t missed the way Michael’s cheeks turned red.

“Of course,” he said, but the way he looked away betrayed him. Gavin nudged him, playfully enough that he saw Michael’s walls come down a little.

“What, did Meg say something?”  
  
“Nah,” Michael said, and swallowed. “It didn’t mean anything, so why should she care?”  
  
The words came out in an embarrassed flurry, but they still made Gavin’s heart sink. _Didn’t mean anything - right. Okay. Of course._

“Purely educational,” Michael added, seemingly to fill the silence.

“Of course,” Gavin said, his voice admirably steady. _Why are you_ disappointed, _idiot? You shouldn’t be._ “But I do mean it. Thank you - I… I don’t think Meg would have been comfortable teaching me, even if she was joking about it, and I don’t want to ruin things with Lindsay.” Something flickered in Michael’s eyes at that, but Gavin pushed on breathlessly. “You’ve been a… a really good help to me, and - would you mind if we maybe tried again sometime?”  
  
Some petty part of him that even he couldn’t quite explain almost relished the way Michael’s eyes widened in shock. Still, he thought - if it meant _nothing_ , why not take what he could get?  
  
“Uhhh,” Michael managed - but Gavin stared at him, deliberately keeping his eyes wide and oblivious.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” he replied - a faint challenge in it. _Something to prove, Michael?_ Apparently, because something more determined flickered in the other man’s eyes.

“No, it’s fine,” he replied.

“Alright then,” Gavin said, and shifted forward. Michael didn’t move away, even as Gavin was the one, this time, to move forward more confidently and press his lips to Michael’s.

He let out something of his hurt and frustration in how he fisted his hand in Michael’s shirt, let his teeth scrape across the other man’s lips. Michael made a startled noise, falling back against the ground. His hands settled on Gavin’s hips - something aggressive in it, a bit too much teeth and tongue involved before Michael grabbed his hair, careful not to grip too tightly, and angled his head until he was kissing him properly. 

By the time they broke apart they were both breathing heavily, staring at each other intently. Michael’s pupils were blown and in the dark night Gavin could see the myriad of stars above reflected in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked.

“Nothing,” Gavin replied. His heart was hammering. “Just learning. What are _you_ doing?”  
  
“What you asked me to,” Michael spluttered, and Gavin gave a hysterical sort of laugh. He was too aware of Michael’s hands, still steadying against his hips.

“Am I improving?”  
  
“Sure,” Michael said. His hand swept down Gavin’s side in a rough movement, almost too intimate, that made Gavin’s stomach lurch in a new way. 

He wanted this.

He wasn’t quite sure what _this_ was, but - he wanted something more, something longer, deeper - he pressed forward and they kissed again, desperately. The self-consciousness that’d plagued him before was dissolving quickly - Michael’s hands clutched at his waist, and he jolted at the thought of what might happen if they slipped under his shirt. What Michael would do if Gavin tried to touch him - he ran a hand down the side of Michael’s neck and felt the other man groan into his mouth. It was a nice sound, sent a thrill down his spine.

When they pulled apart he had the sudden urge to drop his forehead down against Michael’s, but bit it back. He felt shaky and weak at the knees, his mind racing a thousand miles an hour, too aware of every inch of Michael’s skin that was touching his. He could see the other man’s chest heaving as he breathed, relished the flush on his cheeks and his reddened lips.

_What are we doing?_ He felt quite mad suddenly, dizzy and mad. _What is this?_

But then Michael patted him on the shoulder and carefully extricated himself, leaving Gavin sitting on the ground as he got up.

“Good job.” His voice was a little hoarse; he cleared his throat. “I’m gonna go get some firewood, yeah?”  
  
Gavin opened his mouth but couldn’t find words. He watched, breathless - helpless - as Michael walked a way a bit unsteadily.

 

* * *

 

The last leg of the journey. They were passing through the mountains now and the threat of bandits meant that they spent most days hitching rides on merchant convoys and most nights in roadside inns-

And their lessons didn’t end there. There was too much unspoken but somehow Gavin didn’t want to push things, to disturb the fragile balance they’d managed to create where he’d go to Michael at night, or Michael would come to him. They wouldn’t say anything, even their usual teasing absent, and he felt like they were moving out of time - like they were caught in an odd limbo as he tried not to think about what was going on, where this left them, what the future would hold, and Ramsey drawing ever closer, ever closer. He needed the distraction, to lose himself in Michael’s hands on his body, to relish these brief moments of pleasure before they hit the dark unknown. 

Sometimes he could see Lindsay and Meg watching them leave to one another’s rooms. They hadn’t said anything - all four of them were quieter nowadays, everything seemed to have more weight as they got further north - but sometimes Gavin wondered what they were thinking. Meg would give him small smiles but he didn’t know what to say. Felt almost guilty - that he thought, sometimes, about kissing them too. That he wondered how soft Lindsay’s lips would feel on his, if he really was as familiar with her whole self as he’d thought he was, which of the two of them would take the lead. That he wished Meg’s quick smile and dexterous hands would be on him.

Maybe his imagination was acting up too much. He’d never been like this on the Isle, when he’d spent his days either busily learning the rituals of the priesthood or in quiet meditation. He’d been mildly curious, of course - but everything seemed different out here, when they’d pass the shadows of bodies locked together on street corners, in dark alleyways, silhouetted against the bright windows of taverns. When men would leer at him as they walked past the rougher parts of town or he’d see women in the inns they stopped in shooting their group secretive smiles from across the bar-

And everything seemed to be moving faster, heavier. Michael’s warm hand casually resting on his waist as they sat in the cart next to each other. Michael, pressed against his back when they shared a bed, a warm, comforting weight. Michael’s lips, the scratch of his stubble against Gavin’s neck, the callouses on his palms from swinging his heavy sword, the low rasp of his voice-

_It doesn’t mean anything._

_It doesn’t mean anything._

_Why should she care?_  
  
_She._

Meg knew what was happening. Gavin had seen her talking to Michael, early in the morning before they set out for the day or sometimes when she thought he wasn’t looking. She didn’t seem angry but honestly she was still such a mystery to Gavin that he couldn’t be sure. They hadn’t talked in a while and often Meg spent the day flying ahead as a bird to scout out the area and make sure they weren’t being followed.

_Before.... she offered to teach you too. What would she do if you asked if she was serious?_

Laugh at him, probably. Or would she? Part of him, a treacherous, silly part that was starting to get a bit too big for its boots, wanted to find out. Started thinking about how it would feel for Meg to be the one to come to his room at night instead, to wonder whether she would let him take the lead or insist on being the one in control. If she’d be as intense as Michael or if she’d laugh and smile the way she did some nights when they sat together to read.

The thoughts kept coming; he couldn’t take his eyes off her each morning as he watched her transform and take flight. It was silly, he knew, Michael was the one in love with her. He shouldn’t intrude. Maybe it was selfish - but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. Not when both of them preyed on his mind.

And then there was Lindsay.

She sat down next to him one day as they waited for the merchant caravan to finish packing its wares. He looked at her with a smile - but her brows were furrowed and she nudged him with one elbow.

“You’re staring too obviously,” she chided, gently, and his cheeks burned as he realised she must have noticed him watching Meg prepare to transform and take off. “You gotta be subtle. Girls don’t like it when you’re drooling over them like that.”  
  
“I’m not _drooling_ ,” Gavin cried.

“Yeah?” There was something sharp in her voice, even if she was smiling, and Gavin stared at her in confusion - but she got on well with Meg, it couldn’t be that still. In fact the two of them had spent a lot of time poring over maps together planning the best way to avoid bandits.

Not knowing what was going through her head was odd for him, and left a tight knot in his stomach. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she jumped in.

“We haven’t talked in a while,” Lindsay said. “What’s going on with you?”  
  
“Just worried about finding Ramsey,” Gavin replied quietly, still a bit put out by her tone before - but Lindsay’s face softened, and her hand closed over his.

“Don’t be,” she urged. “You trust the priests, don’t you? They sent us to him for a reason. It’ll work out. He’ll know what to do.”  
  
“I hope you’re right. I’ll try not to stress over it.” Still, he put his head in his hands for a moment. It was too early; he hadn’t got nearly enough sleep for the last few weeks and he was quite sure when they finally hit the safety of the Northern Kingdom he’d collapse for a week. Lindsay touched his back - low, like Michael did - and he repressed a shiver.

“You and Michael…” she began, and there was a tight, hesitant note in her voice.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Gavin replied, flatly. “I just - wanted to learn.”  
  
“And?” 

“And it’s been good?” he looked up at her, curiously. He wondered about Lindsay sometimes, honestly - what she wanted, what she felt, how much she _knew -_ but her face, right now, was giving nothing away. That was unusual. Once again he felt the breadth of the distance between them, how someone he’d once known as well as he knew himself was now a stranger. They’d both grown up and the nostalgia was a nearly physical ache in his chest. But she was his best friend, so why not try and share? “But I…”

“What?”

“Meg’s… special, isn’t she?” he said, a bit helplessly. “I can see exactly why Michael fell for her. You like her too, don’t you?”  
  
“She’s a good warrior.” There was a funny look on Lindsay’s face but it wasn’t hostile, not like it used to be. “A bit… rough around the edges, but I can’t deny that. Or that she’s beautiful.”  
  
“She is,” Gavin agreed, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Michael loves her, but he and I - I just - I don’t know what’s going on.” The words were jumbling in his head; he spat each one out hoping he could somehow articulate what he meant. But how could he possibly encompass Meg in mere words? “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met, I just… her magic, and the way she talks, and all the things she knows, it’s…”

He trailed off with a helpless shrug. Lindsay was staring at him, face unreadable, and he bit his lip.  
  
“Sorry,” he murmured finally, “I shouldn’t-”  
  
“Shouldn’t what?” Lindsay challenged. Gavin didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to accuse her of being jealous, especially without good reason. A moment later, Lindsay's lips twisted. “So you have a crush on her. So what? We’ve never met anyone like her before. Hell, I admire her, too. But don’t get stupid, Gavin.”  
  
“What do you mean?” _Crush?_ His head was spinning.

“She’s going to be with Michael. She told me. They’re going to try things out once we reach Ramsey’s kingdom.” The words made his stomach sink, just like Michael’s had before. _It doesn’t mean anything_. Didn’t matter what he wanted, he couldn’t just push his way into something where there was no room for him. “Besides, what about…”

She’d trailed off awkwardly, and Gavin blinked.

“What about what?” he asked.

Lindsay looked away, face a little red - like she’d said more than she intended. Frowning, Gavin reached across and squeezed her knee.

“Lindsay,” he urged, “ _What_?”

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Just… I always thought you and I were…”  
  
“Were what?”  
  
“We’re _something_ ,” she burst out, abruptly enough that he could tell this had been building awhile. It took him aback, and he stared with wide eyes at the pain and vulnerability that flashed across her face. “I don’t know. Just - the closest. You and me against the world. But here you are fawning all over both of them-”  
  
“It’s not like that!” His heart was slamming but it was guilt more than anything that was making his stomach sink. Lindsay, beautiful Lindsay, Lindsay who’d been as constant as his shadow for so much of his life. Lindsay who he couldn’t do this without. The last thing he’d ever wanted was for her to feel left out, but he realised suddenly that they really _hadn’t_ spent much time together lately. All day he spent brooding over Ramsey and all night he spent with Michael. “It’s… different. Things are easy with you.”  
  
“What’s that mean?” she asked quietly.

“They’re _easy_. I’ve known you all my life. I know how much I care. I’ve never had to… to worry what you think about me, or to find out anything unexpected about you. I know exactly where I stand.” But suddenly, he wasn’t quite sure about that, and from the look on Lindsay’s face she wasn’t particularly sure either. She began to get up, but he reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Lindsay,” he cried. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“You have nothing to apologise for,” she said quietly. “I’m just being an idiot. You and Michael can do what you like - he clearly doesn’t mind. Seems like Meg doesn’t mind either.”  
  
He must’ve looked hurt as he stared up at her, confused about how things had gone so wrong, feeling like he was caught in a tangle of loose ends that he hadn’t the first clue how to start unravelling - her face softened, and she crouched in front of him for a moment, resting her hand on his knee.

“I like them both too, Gavin,” she said quietly, “I just - I miss _you_. I feel like we’re moving in two different directions.”  
  
Gavin had no idea what to say to that. It was true, and he felt suddenly very lost - but a moment later she gave a small, sad smile and rose, walking away to join Michael where he was sitting hunched over the map. He couldn’t bring himself to follow her. Just sat - staring, aching, wondering. He had no idea what he was doing and was scared of making things worse somehow, but as he watched Michael say something that made Lindsay smile, his heart wrenched. The pieces were all coming together somehow but the picture they made was muddled, confused, and he wasn’t sure where he’d end up when the dust settled.

 

* * *

 

And then, before he knew it, they arrived at the border of Ramsey’s kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Because this essentially ends arc 1 of the story, I'm going to take a tiny hiatus from the fic just for the next two weeks! So there'll be two Mondays with no updates and then they'll start again the Monday after that~ :')**
> 
> **A lot of real life stuff converged at once - I had five assignments due in the span of a week, I got sick and missed a bunch of uni, and then I took on two new clients at work and it wiped me out to the point where I've now used up all my backup chapters for this fic HAHAHA cries**
> 
> **I feel like I'm in a creative slump and have fallen out of my usual daily writing habits. To reset myself I'm just gonna take the two weeks to work on other AUs and then return to this story refreshed - keep an eye on my tumblr because tomorrow morning I'm gonna open prompts for a bit to get some ideas of what to write <3 and as always thank you so much to everyone who's supported the fic, you've kept me really motivated even when I was struggling to work on this~**


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the length of time it took me to get this chapter up! Real life caught up with me hard <3 <3 <3 I'll be alternating updates between this and another short fic for the next couple of weeks but I'm excited to get stuck back into this!
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone's support here and on tumblr, it means a lot to me :)

Michael was feeling a bit out of his depth, though he wasn’t about to show it.

He hadn’t actually been this far north before, and as well-travelled as he was, it was a bit nerve wracking being somewhere so new. Especially, y’know, when the Warlord and all his dark forces, unknown quantities of bounty hunters, and any number of other enemies they didn’t even know about yet were apparently hot on their asses. Still, he was hiding his unease because he didn’t want to freak the others out. He was determined that Lindsay and Gavin think that they were totally confident in where they were going, but he and Meg may have taken them on a _couple_ of detours when they got lost. He was pretty sure no one had noticed.

But here they were, now, at the border of Ramsey’s territory - and he was more nervous than he’d expected. Not just at the prospect of meeting a king, but the thought that this was the end of their journey. There was something funny about being on the road, something oddly liminal, and the last few weeks in hindsight felt like something he’d dreamed.

Now, it was late afternoon and snowing heavily. There was a funny light in the air that Gavin was freaking the fuck out about.

“We call this dead light,” he kept insisting, “When it’s white and bright but not sunny. It’s a bloody bad omen, I’m telling you!”  
  
“Gavin,” Meg said, with more patience than Michael would’ve mustered after forty fucking minutes of this shit, “This is just what it looks like when it snows. You’ve just never seen it because you literally _lived on a tropical island!_ ”

“I don’t like it,” he kept saying.

Lindsay patted his arm and Michael breathed a sigh of relief that someone was stepping in, because honestly he had been about to bite the other man’s head off if he had to hear one more thing about how the white light showed Sol was far away, or whatever the hell the story was. 

“No, Gav,” she said, “In this case, they’re right. It’s literally just when it snows.”

Gavin glanced at her and gave a nervous smile - but Michael hadn’t missed that there was a tension between them the last few days. They didn’t sit together all the time, didn’t whisper to one another whenever they got the chance - but honestly, he was ignoring it because they had more important things going on. They could deal with it later, just like he was gonna sort all his shit out with Meg later. Right now it was just _get to Ramsey, get to Ramsey, get to Ramsey_. Everything else could come after.

Still - the whole dead light thing put an uneasy bend on the whole day. Maybe because they were all exhausted, maybe because everyone was feeling nervous, but Michael couldn’t deny there was something hellish and sickening about the light, and the way it seemed to give everyone an odd back-glow - like they were ghosts. 

They broke from the merchant caravan they’d been travelling with at the last town before the border, and approached on foot through the forest. Michael led the way, but from the corner of his eye he saw Meg glance continually at Gavin. He’d fallen silent this last stretch, his face pale, and Michael wondered if another headache was coming on - or if it was all hitting him now, too, that finally they would actually find out what the next step in this whole fiasco was. 

The border shone ahead of them. Row upon row of torches marked it out - wooden posts hammered into the ground between the trees, each with a glowing piece of redstone set upon it. They looked like a multitude of crimson eyes in the dark, and it should have been a relief, but Michael’s stomach just felt tight.

“Something’s wrong,” Meg said behind him, and he turned.

“What?” 

“I don’t know.” She sounded frustrated, looking around. “Just - there’s usually guards along here, aren’t there?”  
  
Michael frowned, but before he could think about it much more, he heard the distant noise of voices somewhere in the trees nearby. He grabbed Gavin’s arm and yanked him closer; the other man followed him easily. Meg had whirled around and Lindsay drew her sword.

“Check it out,” Michael hissed, and she nodded. She passed her bag to Lindsay and transformed into a bird, fluttering off instantly. 

Michael tugged Gavin behind the nearest large tree. Lindsay followed, and the two of them exchanged a concerned look - but even if Michael’s heart was pounding, he felt a little steadier at the sight of her standing with one hand on the hilt of her sword. She had his back, he knew it.

The snow was piling up around them and every sound seemed muffled and distorted. The world around them, blanketed in white, seemed bleak and unfriendly - far from the sanctuary he’d hoped Ramsey’s kingdom would be. He shifted his feet and grimaced. It was getting hard to move.

“Michael,” Gavin whispered, fingers gripping at the front of his shirt. Michael wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him a little closer. It was funny, now, how used to one another’s touch they were.

“What?”  
  
“It’s horrible out here. The dead light’s getting worse.” It might have been a stupid name but Gavin had a point; it was snowing so heavily by now that it was getting hard to see. The weak, wan sunlight reflected off the sheets of white and made his eyes ache. He felt like everything had turned flatter, the depth sucked out of it by the snow. “We can’t stick around.”  
  
“He’s not used to this weather,” Lindsay added. “Neither am I, in Solaire.”  
  
It was true - both of them looked a bit like drowned cats, shuffling their feet constantly to avoid sinking into the snow, miserable and wide-eyed with white flakes caught in their woollen hoods and on their cloaks. Even Michael, bundled up under his fur coat, was feeling the cold, and despite the warm thrum of the Flame where Gavin was pressed against his chest, he could feel the other man shivering - he’d donned a jumper and hat earlier this morning.

“Damn it,” Michael whispered. They were right; as much as it pained him, they couldn’t continue today with the weather like this. It was fucking frustrating because it felt like Ramsey was _right_ within reach, but they were gonna have to stop. “Okay, we’ll try make camp somewhere once Meg gets back - if the coast is clear.” 

He heard a flutter of wings, and looked up. A black bird swooped by overhead; he thought it was Meg, it looked like her, but she didn’t stop. Just continued on over the forest, leaving them in silence.

_What’s happening?_ He hated not knowing, but he wasn’t about to move, not with Gavin here, and he caught Lindsay’s eyes again. She pulled a horrible face - once again it warmed his heart, just not being _alone_ in this.

“Don’t worry.” He could see the pinched look on Gavin’s face. “We’ll sort it out. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”  
  
“I just don’t like that there’s no sun.” Gavin bit his lip; he looked a bit like a wilting plant, pale and wan. He was right, the light was getting worse and from the way the wind was picking up, Michael was pretty sure that there was a snow storm coming on. It was altogether miserable - they’d been travelling through the centre of the continent for so many weeks now that he’d forgotten how utterly bleak it could get around the coastlines, and especially up north.

A flash of movement made him whirl around - but it was just Meg, landing lightly next to them. She looked rattled and Michael’s heart sank further.

“What was the commotion?” he asked.

Meg was already drawing her dagger.

“A troupe of Taurin’s men were arguing with the guards. It didn’t look like they were fighting, just having some choice words, but I don’t like it.”  
  
“Taurin’s men?” Gavin demanded. His face had gone white. “They’re here? So far north? I thought they had no idea where we were headed!”  
  
“Taurin has spies everywhere,” Meg replied grimly, “It was always a possibility he’d see us. We traded off getting North faster with risking travelling with other caravans and merchant parties-”  
  
“Or,” Michael cut in, firmly, “They could be here for another reason entirely. Things between Ramsey and Taurin have always been tense, but they’re not at war yet, and right now Ramsey doesn’t know that Taurin was the one who destroyed the Isle. They could be here on foreign business.”  
  
He didn’t believe it himself, but they were in the last leg of the journey here, and he needed everyone to stay calm.

“Oh, gods,” Lindsay groaned, and Michael raised his hands.

“Nobody freak out!”  
  
“They’ve found us.” Gavin’s chest was heaving and Michael grabbed his arm, squeezing tightly. “They must have, or they’re planning to attack Ramsey first or-”  
  
“Just calm down, okay!” Michael shook his arm, careful not to be too rough. “Look, the important thing is they didn’t see us and from the sound of it the guards intercepted them. Now, Meg, what’s the plan here? The snow’s getting heavier. It’ll make it hard to travel before long.”  
  
“It’ll conceal our tracks as well,” she said. “I think it’s best we take shelter for tonight. Tomorrow morning I’ll see what things are looking like and the best way into the kingdom. I scouted ahead before and there’s an abandoned loggers’ cottage not too far from here. Let’s spend the night there and the snow will cover our tracks. We can have a fresh start tomorrow.”  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Michael said firmly. He kept a tight grip on Gavin’s arm, pulling him along as Meg led the way. The other man was stumbling, not used to walking in such thick snow. Michael hated the panicked look on his face - the mere mention of Taurin had turned him nearly grey, and he could feel him shaking in his grip. It made him feel sick, wondering how he must’ve felt back at the start of this journey when he and Meg captured him. But that was in the past, now - he pushed it aside and focused on moving as quickly and quietly as possible.

 

* * *

 

“You’re sure this place is abandoned?” Michael asked.

The cabin stood in the middle of a small clearing, a small wooden building surrounded by the stumps of felled trees. The snow was falling fast and had already gathered a couple of inches up against the door. In the muffled silence, the forest seemed quieter than ever. The windows were dark and grimy, no signs of life around, but Michael’s stomach still twisted. He kept expecting to hear shouting and the ringing clash of swords behind them.

Gavin was jumpy too, if the way he was clinging to Michael’s arm was anything to go by. But Meg moved past them and pushed at the door. It was locked.

“I looked in the window before as a bird,” she said. “Totally abandoned. The latrines out the back are falling apart and there’s rust on all the tools in the shed. Whoever used to live here hasn’t been back in a long time.”  
  
“Alright,” Michael said. He trusted her judgment and his heart felt a little more at ease. Gently detaching Gavin’s hand from his arm, he moved forward and shoved at the door. A latch rattled somewhere inside. Casting about, he picked up an old axe that was leaning against the wall and brought it down on the lock - once, twice - before he felt the metal give way and kicked the door in with one mighty strike of his boot.

It swung open with a rusty creak that sounded like a woman’s scream. He saw Lindsay jump in his periphery. A stagnant wave of air flowed out and he braced himself, expecting something to emerge from the dark interior. But there was nothing but silence, and after a moment Meg nudged past him, a  ball of flame in her palm.

“Come on,” Michael said, turning to the others - they exchanged a nervous glance, then Lindsay grabbed Gavin’s hand and they shuffled after him.

He hadn’t realised until they got inside just how cold he’d been getting out in the wind and snow. The interior of the cabin was dry and musty, but so _warm_ that he felt his shivering subside almost instantly. With the glow of Meg’s fire lighting up the room, he felt the rest of his apprehension drop from his shoulders, and closed the door behind them, pushing a wooden table in front of it to keep it shut with the latch broken. 

“This place reeks,” Gavin said, softly. And then sneezed violently three times in a row. Lindsay pounded him enthusiastically on the back - Michael wasn’t quite sure what her goal there was. 

“It’s just old,” Meg replied, and shot a burst of flame at the fireplace. The room lit up with a hearty glow and Michael looked around. A thick layer of dust covered everything and there were flies buzzing around a pot on the stove, but otherwise they were in a fairly ordinary looking room - a hearth and kitchen on one side, a small living area on the other. No skeletons in the corners, no bloodstains on the walls. Just a home that had been abandoned for some reason long ago.

“There might be ghosts here,” Gavin added, and whimpered as a shadow flitted across the wall.

“They’re _bugs_ , Gav,” Meg said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you dare start!”

“Nah, I don’t sense any spirits,” Michael said, as he marched to warm his hands by the fire, cheerfully. 

“As if you could sense them anyway,” Meg said crossly.

“I _can_! My family has a sixth sense for this stuff-”

“If you dare bring up your grandfather’s moth-ghost I _will_ hit you,” Meg threatened, and Michael laughed - shakily, a bit hysterically. After a second Lindsay started giggling too, and he was glad when even Gavin managed a little smile and began fastidiously sweeping dust from the seat of one of the chairs. Meg was pulling the curtains over the windows - it wouldn’t do to draw too much attention - but after their long journey Michael was just relieved they’d found shelter. The wind was battering the walls and he could hear the violent whipping of the branches outside. This was going to be a long, dark night, and he was fucking glad they were indoors at least.

Lindsay came up by his side and tugged at his sleeve.

“Better scope out the rest of this place,” she murmured, and he nodded, reluctantly drawing away from the fire’s warmth. 

He grabbed his sword and a torch, and they headed down the dark corridor together. The hall lead away towards two small bedrooms, both in pitch blackness with night falling outside and the fire confined to the living room. The floorboards creaked under his boots, but Lindsay’s breathing a pace behind him was reassuring.

They moved into one of the bedrooms and he lit the torch in the wall bracket before looking around, sweeping for any concealed threat - behind the door, under the bed, in the wardrobe. The skeleton of what might have been a cat was curled up in the corner of the closet, and he hastily flung one of the garments hanging up over it before Gavin or Lindsay could find it and get too upset.

He turned away to find Lindsay rummaging around, only to flinch and jump as she managed to somehow knock a pot, a candle and a stack of heavy books off the bedside table.

“Gods, be fucking careful!” Michael gasped, clapping a hand to his pounding heart. The rug on the floor muffled the noise a little, at least.

“Sorry, sorry, my hands are cold!” she said, sheepishly rearranging everything on the dresser. “Butterfingers.”  
  
“I’m amazed most of this is intact.” He moved over to the bed and ran a hand over the sheets - the thick woollen blankets and the furs that protected against the winter cold. “At least moths haven’t eaten everything.”  
  
“Ghost moths?” Lindsay teased.

“Shut up,” Michael said, but couldn’t help his smile. Lindsay grinned back and they walked together to the other room. There was a double bed in here, too, and they searched around the room only to come up with everything clear. Michael relaxed - he wasn’t quite sure _what_ he’d been expecting to find, an axe-murderer under the bed? Taurin’s men hiding in the cupboards waiting to get the jump on them? Whatever imagined threat he’d concocted, he was satisfied now that there was nothing here.

“Safe for now, then,” he said, and Lindsay nodded, sinking down on the foot of the bed. There was a long, tired pause.

“What do you think Taurin’s planning?” she asked finally, and Michael bit his lip. The guards in the forest were at the back of his mind, too. He didn’t think they’d ever feel _completely_ safe until they were right there in Ramsey’s court.

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” he admitted. “All the politics involved in it is beyond me, to be honest. But Taurin’s not fool enough to attack Ramsey outright, especially across land. Those mountains would stop an army instantly, and the pass is heavily defended. And Ramsey has a damn strong navy.”  
  
“Then why’s he here?” Lindsay whispered - looking at him with something too vulnerable in her eyes, seeking a reassurance that he knew he couldn’t honestly give.

“He’s probably following us,” he admitted, and Lindsay groaned, reaching to cover her face with her hands - Michael moved to sit next to her on the bed and reached out, squeezing her knee. “Hey, hey - we got this far. No one’s gonna stop us now.”

“I know, just…” the words dropped heavy and lethargic from her mouth. When she lowered her hands she looked exhausted. “I need to keep him safe.”  
  
“ _We_ will keep him safe,” Michael insisted, fiercely. “All three of us. Together.”  
  
Lindsay smiled, but it was weak and almost sad. Michael jostled her leg.

“What is it? What’s up?”  
  
“Nothing,” Lindsay murmured, and moved to get up, but Michael caught her arm gently.

“Hey - what’s going on with you two, anyway? Something’s off lately.”

Even in the dark, even as tired as he was, he didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed, or the slightly awkward way she glanced at him before looking away again.

“Things are… changing,” she said, stiffly. “It’s hard when you’ve known someone so long - I think you can understand that, Michael.”  
  
He could - _gods_ , he could, after everything that had gone down with Meg, but he frowned in confusion. As far as he were aware, nothing like that had happened between Gavin and Lindsay, unless he was completely oblivious.

“What’s changed, though?” he asked, and Lindsay’s face crumpled for a moment before an almost tearful smile stretched across her lips.

“Oh, Michael,” she said, and he stared at her, wracking his brains furiously to try and figure out what he was missing-

_Gavin_.

His cheeks flushed as it struck him - the nights they’d spent together, the other man’s shy, fumbling movements. Michael pressing a hand over his mouth because he knew the girls were in the next room. The way his green eyes looked in the moonlight. He’d been an idiot not to realise it might impact Gav’s relationship with Lindsay - she’d never said anything, Meg either! He’d assumed they just didn’t care.

A foolish assumption, he realised now, and Lindsay must have seen the realisation dawn on his face. She smiled, a bit sadly.

“What did you think was gonna happen?” she asked.

“He asked me… we haven’t… it isn’t…” The words wouldn’t come, but Lindsay was already sighing heavily.

“I don’t know what _is_ or _isn’t_ ,” she cried. “That’s the problem! And I don’t know what I’m doing, either. Or maybe I’m not doing anything at all.”  
  
“Lindsay-”  
  
“It’s fine.” She sniffed, abruptly, and rose. “We gotta focus on the job. Sort it all out later, right? It’ll be fine.”

She turned away and walked out. This time, Michael didn’t pull her back. He stared after her, mind racing, not sure what was going on. His stomach twisted, suddenly unsure of himself. He’d thought things were relatively stable between them all, at least for now. And things with Gavin had been the one constant in these last few weeks of travel. A distraction…

And a sort of rebellion, too. A _freedom_ \- an acknowledgement that their lives weren’t bound to this, that one day Gavin would be out there using what Michael taught him, forging a path for himself. A reminder that he didn’t wear his destiny like chains.

He’d thought that was the other man’s idea of it, too. A symbol. Not… not something else, not something they’d have to _think about_ and let get in the way.

But maybe he’d been a fool - deliberately oblivious, subconsciously clinging to naivety. There just hadn’t been many chances to _talk_ lately - or to stop and think about things too closely.

The creak of a floorboard out in the hall made him look up, warily. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to Lindsay if she came back in, or Meg either at this point. But it was Gavin who peered shyly around the doorframe, knuckles rapping a meek tune against the wood.

“Michael?”  
  
“What’s up, Sunbeam?” Michael asked, with a forced grin. _Don’t make it awkward. Don’t ask him anything. Just - let it be for now._

“The others are cooking. I’m not really hungry. I thought I might lie down for a bit.”  
  
“You look exhausted,” Michael said magnanimously, and clambered off the bed to pull back the covers and smooth the sheets down, checking for bugs. There were none; he flipped over a pillow and found everything in good condition. “Have a nap, Gavin. You deserve one after all this travel. Hopefully in Ramsey’s kingdom we’ll all finally have a chance to rest.”  
  
“Thanks.” Gavin gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Michael watched as he took off his scarf and cloak, slinging them over a nearby chair. By this point, the sight of the other man undressing was nothing new to him, and he watched him toe his boots off and walk over to the bed. He wanted to reach out - run a hand down his side, touch his hair, something reassuring to wipe the worry lines off his face.

Gavin climbed into bed and sat for a moment, knees pulled up to his chest. Michael hovered by the bedside, not quite willing to leave yet.

“I’ve had bad dreams lately,” Gavin said abruptly, still staring at his knees. 

Michael bit his lip. He’d noticed, though he’d tried not to comment - the times the other man would rouse with a gasp in the middle of the night, or murmur and tremble in his sleep. 

“They keep getting worse,” Gavin added.

“About the Isle?” Michael prompted clumsily. He felt awkward, unused to talking about things like this. He and Meg supported each other but they also usually dealt with their own shit and didn’t pry; it worked for them, but he knew that wasn’t what Gavin needed.

“Sometimes. Or about Ramsey. Or Taurin.”

“We’re not gonna let him get to you,” Michael said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “I promise.”  
  
“I know, lovely Michael.” The smile Gavin shot him, genuine now, felt like sunshine. “I trust you. Just - fate doesn’t always mean that everything turns out okay.”  
  
“Not in our hands either way,” Michael said, briskly. “We try to make the best choices we can - that’s all that matters, right?”  
  
“Right!” Gavin looked rather happy that Michael had remembered that little Way of Sol spiel, and a little of the tension leached from his shoulders. Michael smiled, too.

“Try and rest, Gavin,” he urged, stroking a hand down his arm and turning away. “We’re nearly at the end.”  
  
“Wait.” A hand caught his wrist. “Stay - please? I sleep better with someone else nearby.”

Michael hesitated - but one look back at Gavin’s pleading eyes and he was already nodding. He climbed into the bed and curled up behind Gavin, wrapping his arms around the other man, something that felt far too familiar by now. He could feel him pulsing warm with every beat of his heart, and after a moment pressed a kiss to the back of Gavin’s shoulder. Maybe the motion was too intimate, but it seemed to come automatically. He wasn’t sure what it meant but wasn’t about to dwell on it.

He felt himself drifting. He was bone-tired too, and it was too easy to slip into sleep with his head on a soft pillow and in the warmth of the blankets.

“Michael.” Gavin’s voice swam to him, sleepy and dazed. “Are you ever afraid of - of what you might be?”  
  
“Just sleep for now, Gav,” Michael murmured, barely focusing on the words. He’d already half-forgotten what the other man had asked. “We’ll talk about it another time. Just… sleep. Worry later.”  
  
“Okay,” Gavin whispered, and fell silent again. Michael pressed his forehead to the other man’s back and let his own body relax and slowly slip away.

 

* * *

 

Lindsay sat by the crackling fire, watching Meg cook. It was cosy in here, and the warm little space of the living room was filled with the savoury fragrance of the vegetable stew that was bubbling in a pot over the fire - but Lindsay scowled as she cut up a loaf of bread with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. Her chest felt tight and her eyes burned, but she wasn’t sure if she was upset, or angry, or something else entirely.

Meg was watching her, one hand on her hip and the other on the handle of the soup ladle. Things had been stable between them lately, they were usually fine with each other, but right now the eyes boring into Lindsay’s skull were only making her feel even more tense.

“You’re in a mood,” Meg commented finally, and Lindsay brought the knife down in the bread again, viciously. It irked her even if by now she could tell that Meg wasn’t being snippy, just questioning.

“We should’ve killed Taurin’s men back there,” Lindsay barked out, abruptly.

“What?”

“Why not?” She stabbed the loaf again; imagined it was plunging through a black-clothed torso. “Ramsey’s guards were there, so they were outnumbered. We’d’ve had the element of surprise. Could’ve taken out the lot of them. Instead we hid and ran.”  
  
“You weren’t complaining at the time,” Meg said slowly. She’d turned to face Lindsay fully now, hands on her hips, a calculating look in her eyes.

“My first instinct was to get Gav to safety,” Lindsay grunted. “But the more I think about it…”  
  
She threw down the knife with a clatter that made Meg’s shoulders tense - an abrupt, angry action that surprised even herself. Honestly, Lindsay was the most easy-going person she knew - even Gavin was more high strung than her at times, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so wound up. Maybe she was just riled up from her talk with Michael earlier, but the thought of Taurin’s forces somewhere out there rankled her. What if they’d attacked Ramsey’s guards? Slaughtered them just like they’d slaughtered the priests on the Isle? What if, even now, black poison infiltrated his kingdom while they stood aside and did nothing?

Meg stepped forward.

“There were a lot of men,” she said, firmly. “And gods know what else lurking in the forest that I didn’t see. It was the safer call.”  
  
“The more of those _scum_ we kill, the safer the world is!” Lindsay spat, even if the venomous words felt foreign on her tongue. Meg knew her well enough by now to tell, and folded her arms.

“What’s up with you?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Lindsay snapped - she wasn’t pissed with _Meg_ , but she was the closest target right now, and the other woman’s calm was infuriating. The other woman stared at her intently for a moment, then her face softened.

“I know you hate Taurin,” she said. “We all do. But Ramsey’s better equipped to take care of him. There’s no point rushing in now like a hot-headed fool and getting ourselves killed so close to the finish line.”

“I’m not a fucking fool!” Lindsay spat.

“Okay, calm down.” Meg’s eyes had widened. “That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“Isn’t it?”

They scowled at each other, but the antagonism tasted bitter. Lindsay felt childish - she knew she was overreacting, knew she was the one at fault, but she felt like _she_ was the one with a fire blazing in her chest, and as much as she wished she could let all this go, she couldn’t. After a moment, she jerked her head at the pot behind Meg - a rancid black smoke streaming up from it now.

“Your stew’s burning,” she said, and Meg spun around. “I’ll go get the boys.”  
  
She turned without another word and marched into the hallway, where she paused, trembling. _Get a grip, Lindsay. Get a fucking grip. What’s got into you?_

It wasn’t just about Taurin. She knew that much. As the end of the trip loomed closer, so did the possibility that all of this would come to a head. _All_ of this. Michael and Meg. Gavin and Michael. Gavin and _Meg_.

_And where will you be when the dust settles? What have any of them done for you so far?  
  
_ It was unfair, she knew. It was petty and jealous and ugly. But she couldn’t help it - she just felt _lost,_ and like there was a darkness closing in around her and she had no one close enough to cling to. She took a deep breath and moved towards the bedroom she’d left Michael in.

“Guys?” she prompted, rapping on the door. There was no reply and she pushed it open, only to freeze.

Michael and Gavin were curled up in the bed together. In the dim, flickering light of the torch on the wall she could see their bodies pressed close under the thick blankets, Michael’s head resting on Gavin’s shoulder, chests rising and falling in tandem. For a second, her heart caught in her throat. Another swell of hot jealousy rose in her chest.

_Don’t be stupid-_

_Don’t be_ stupid-

_Don’t be stupid, they’re just sleeping. They deserve rest, especially Gavin. You know how exhausted he’s been. You’ve seen his nightmares. You should be glad he looks peaceful and nothing more._

But all she could think of were those nights early on, after they’d both left the Isle, when _she’d_ been the one he would cling to for comfort in the night. When she’d rest her head against his chest and feel the warmth of the Flame within - when she was the one to pull him close and run a soothing hand down his back when he woke wracked with night terrors and memories of the massacre. She was the one, then, who _understood_. The one he relied on.

How long had it been since they shared a bed? Not since they’d hit the North, if not longer.

Simmering, she shut the door and turned back around, marching back into the kitchen with dull, mechanical motions.

“I’ve salvaged it,” Meg was saying, laying the pot in the middle of the table with careful hands. She looked up and whatever expression was on Lindsay’s face made her pause. “What is it?”

Her voice was tight, but not angry. Lindsay stared at her - beautiful Meg, Meg who _everyone_ wanted. How could they not? She didn’t think she could fight alongside a woman like that for years as Michael had without falling for her.

“They’re in bed together,” she said, brusquely - deliberately relishing the look on Meg’s face for just a moment before she added, “Sleeping - so they won’t be joining us.”  
  
“Together?” Meg asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. They looked pretty cosy.” She kicked a chair out and threw herself down in it. Meg hovered nearby and Lindsay couldn’t help asking, “You’re really alright with this? All Michael’s talk of sorting things out with you when we hit Ramsey’s kingdom and he’s spent the entire trip over here banging Gav!”  
  
“Wow,” Meg said, and there was a long, awkward pause before she let out a scoff. “You’re… _really_ not as much of a square as you seemed, okay then.”  
  
Lindsay scowled, turning away and whittling the end of her knife into the table. In her peripheral, she saw Meg slowly sit down in the chair next to her.

“Look.” Meg’s voice was oddly tight. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it a _bit_ weird. I don’t want to control Michael, especially since I’m the one who hasn’t been able to give him a straight answer about how I feel yet. Especially since I… I don’t think it’s as simple with Gavin as just teaching him how to do things. And yes, I trust him, but I’m scared too - about where this is going. I just… I think Gavin needed this and Michael’s the one who can give it to him.”  
  
“I could give it to him,” Lindsay grumbled, and Meg’s head lifted.

“Jealous, paladin?”

There was something in her voice that made Lindsay pause. Her tone wasn’t mocking, she realised - more like challenging. Something stirred in her stomach. She looked up and met Meg’s eyes, suddenly breathless. The firelight reflected in them, flickering. She couldn’t quite figure out their colour - a mix of green, blue, brown - the intensity in them was startling.

“So what if I am?” she replied, slowly. “Michael and Gav getting it on every night… I mean, he can do what he wants, but I’m allowed to think it’s weird. I can feel whatever I like,” she added, a bit defensively. 

“Fair enough,” Meg replied. “Like I said, I think it’s odd too, although I’m glad it’s working for them. I’m just… not sure what their end goal here is.”  
  
“For Gavin to become the sex master of the entire continent,” Lindsay muttered, and Meg laughed - a genuine, thrumming laugh that made Lindsay feel warm.

“He won’t be getting that from Michael,” she said.

“How do you know?” Lindsay asked, and from the way Meg looked flustered, she knew that nothing really had happened between them yet. “You haven’t slept with him. He might be a god in bed.”  
  
“I’ve seen him put the moves on enough people to know he’s not as suave as he tries to make people think,” Meg said, and Lindsay raised an eyebrow.

“But you find him attractive.”  
  
For a second Meg looked uncharacteristically caught off guard. Lindsay felt like they were sparring suddenly - circling one another, both waiting for an opening.

“Of course,” she replied carefully, “Have you seen him?” And then, after a moment of prolonged and rather tense eye contact, “You’re very attractive too.”  
  
Lindsay looked away. Her heart was pounding - she didn’t know where this was going, and that scared her. But the next thing she knew there was a rustle of movement - and suddenly Meg’s hand was on her cheek, a gentle, warm touch. Lindsay looked up, blushing fiercely, her heart slamming at the look in the other woman’s eyes.

“You know that,” Meg said slowly, “Right?”

“Meg…”

“What?” Meg asked, her thumb stroking over Lindsay’s cheek. “Why so embarrassed? Or are you telling me you’ve never done this before?”  
  
Lindsay’s eyes widened and Meg smiled at the realisation.

“Wow. Okay,” she said. She leaned in closer, and Lindsay could barely breathe. Meg’s hand stroked soothingly down her arm.

“Let the boys have their fun,” she whispered, breath tickling Lindsay’s ear. “We can have ours.”  
  
Holy shit. Okay. Lindsay’s mind was completely blank, her thoughts racing so fast that she couldn’t stop and grab hold of any of them. She sat there like a fool, not managing to find any words. For a second, Meg hesitated.

“Do you want this?” she asked.

Her voice was gentle - gentler than Lindsay had ever heard before. She wanted to nod, but instead she leaned forward, until her lips brushed against the other woman’s.

Once again her mind blanked. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, and sat frozen - it took Meg a moment, and then she was kissing back fiercely, her hands coming up to tangle in Lindsay’s hair. She pushed her back against the chair, straddling her - Lindsay’s hands went automatically to her hips to steady her. Meg gripped her face. They seemed to fit perfectly together - her slight weight in Lindsay’s lap, pressed flush against her as she took control. The kiss was almost rough, their lips chapped from the cold, Meg’s calloused fingers pressing against Lindsay’s cheeks, the side of her neck. It sent a thrum through her body, similar to what she’d used to feel when she stared at the Flame, when she got too close to Gavin nowadays - _magic_.

By the time they broke apart her whole body was tingling and she felt almost feverish. She couldn’t stop staring at Meg, panting for breath, and was quite sure she must be bright red; she felt like she was on fire. There was nothing else on her mind but _Meg, Meg,_ and how the other woman’s lips had felt on hers.

Meg stared at her moment, just a bit flustered - a bit dishevelled. Lindsay found that oddly satisfying. Then she clambered off Lindsay’s lap and held out a hand.

“Come on,” she breathed, and Lindsay bit her lip before taking her hand and letting her tug her to her feet. Their meal forgotten and growing cold on the table, she let Meg lead her to the second bedroom.

The fire had warmed the whole house, and even the wind lashing the walls outside couldn’t ruin things. The world outside the window was blanketed white with snow, but in here Lindsay felt - odd. Not quite safe, but overcome with a sense that something, here, was falling into place. She hadn’t felt like that in a long time.

Meg walked her to the bed, pushing until the back of Lindsay’s knees hit the straw mattress and she was sitting down. The smaller woman leaned over and kissed her again, fiercely, before mouthing at her jaw and down her neck.

“Meg.” The name spilled out of Lindsay a bit desperately.

“You don’t need to be jealous,” Meg murmured, her breath tickling against Lindsay’s skin, and Lindsay closed her eyes, head tipping back automatically. Her arms, holding her up against the bed, felt weak and shaky.

_Where the fuck is this going to leave us?_ she wondered, briefly - she didn’t think Meg knew, either - but as her lips hit the hollow of Lindsay’s throat and her hands found the fastenings of her shirt, she found she didn’t care.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, not too much even changed.

Or at least, the next morning Lindsay woke up to an empty bed and the sound of the others clattering around in the kitchen, and when she emerged it was smiles all around and determined conversation about their plans for the day, and okay then, it seemed like the plan was just to pretend nothing had ever happened? Or at least, that seemed to be what Michael and Gavin were going for, and when she managed to catch Meg's eyes the other woman just gave her a small nod and a smile, which, what. What was the meaning of this. What did this nod mean?! What was she agreeing to?!

Despite her internal freakout about the fact that she had had a very good night and also she kind of couldn't stop thinking about Meg's hands and every time she walked within a metre of the other woman she felt kind of warm all over, she, too, resolved to just shove all this to the back of her mind and deal with it later. The shit was piling up but they were, like, still able to hide it all under the bed for now. Or something along those lines.

"I scouted the area early this morning," Meg announced, moving around the table and reaching out as she passed to slip a plate in front of Lindsay. She tried not to focus on how the other woman’s arm brushed against her shoulder, or the delicate span of her wrist between her sleeve and her woolen gloves - a wrist that Lindsay’s hand had curled around just last night-

Gods, was she blushing? Was Gavin staring at her? No wait, he was staring at Meg, beside her. A concoction of feelings bubbled in her stomach and she reached out and took a gulp of milk to banish them. Dear gods, this mess was going to be the _death_ of her.

“Taurin’s men still around?” she asked, in a voice that she was very proud remained steady.

“No,” Meg replied, moving back to her own seat at the table, “But all the guards seemed accounted for and back at their posts.”  
  
“You reckon they backed off?” Michael asked, and frowned. “That doesn’t seem like them.”  
  
“Maybe Ramsey’s guards let them through,” Gavin piped up.

“Don’t be stupid,” Michael said, “Why would he let the enemy into the kingdom?”  
  
His voice was a bit harsh, Lindsay thought, considering how close they usually were - but when Gavin glanced away, looking hurt, Michael noticed right away and reached out to brush a hand gently along his wrist. It was a funny, intimate little moment of reassurance that made her pause.

_He really cares about Gav._

This wasn’t just sex, wasn’t just - whatever the hell the two of them had been doing behind closed doors. And while on some level it was a relief, because she _wanted_ them to get them along, of course she did…

At the same time, the knot in her chest seemed to pull even tighter, and she didn’t know what this meant for any of them. Gavin looked up, and their eyes met very awkwardly before she looked down at her plate and started picking at the bread and rather questionably coloured porridge that Meg had supplied for her.

“Either way,” Meg continued after a moment, “It’s our chance to get in. Without Taurin’s people in sight, I think we should just continue on the most direct course through the mountain pass. We should be out of range of the bounty on us by now.”  
  
“Really?” Michael asked. “Just walk along the main road to the front door?”

“There are a lot of other travellers who walk that road,” Meg pointed out. “I think at this point we’re safer among the general population. Just stay close to each other and don’t draw attention and I think we should be fine.”  
  
The two of them stared at each other for a long moment in a silent communication that Lindsay could only envy. She saw the moment Michael decided to trust his partner, and he pushed his chair back and nodded, shovelling the last of his food down before turning away with a mutter about going to pack up his stuff. 

Gavin was meekly picking at his food, and as soon as Michael left the room, a slightly strained, thick silence floated between the three of them. Lindsay wasn’t sure who would be less embarrassing to look at, and settled for staring at her breakfast. The porridge seemed to stare back. She was fairly certain it was alive, every now and then it sort of bubbled ominously.

“How’s the Flame feel, Gav?” Meg asked finally.

“About… normal…?” Gavin replied, in the tone of voice that implied he suspected he was being tested but wasn’t quite sure how.

“It’s been a while now,” Meg added, gentler now, “You’re not feeling anything strange as a result of carrying it so long?”  
  
Gavin shook his head, rubbing at his chest and glancing up with the sort of meek smile that always made Lindsay want to reach out and squish his cheeks.

“Nah, I’m alright actually,” he said. “I do hope Ramsey can get it out, though. I’d rather not feel so warm all the time. But nothing seems worse than usual.”  
  
“There are mages in his court. I’m sure someone can do more than I’ve been able to.” Meg hesitated, just slightly. Three weeks ago Lindsay wouldn’t have been able to tell. “I’m also hoping I can contact an old friend of mine once we get up north. The big cities will be able to send mail a lot more easily than we can on the road. He might have an idea what’s up with your mana. Or what the Flame actually is.”  
  
“A mage friend from the College?” Lindsay asked, and Meg nodded.

“Tell us more!” Gavin demanded. Both of them were leaning in curiously - for a moment, the two of them on the same page again. “We only ever see you with Michael! I never knew you had _friends_!”

“I feel like I should be offended by this,” Meg said, but she was smiling.

“But it’s literally just you two going on jobs all the time!” Gavin exclaimed, “Where else would you hang out with people?”  
  
“Well, Michael’s got no friends,” Meg laughed, “There’s a few bounty hunters we’ll drink with if we run into each other, but otherwise, sure, he’s a bit of a loner. Not that you’re one to talk, Free.”  
  
“I am a friend of the world,” Gavin said, but there was a hint of sadness under it that made Lindsay’s heart sink as she realised that she was literally the only other person he _knew_ anymore, apart from Meg and Gavin. Literally everyone else he’d ever been familiar with had been killed on the Isle. She wasn’t sure if Meg noticed the pause - she wanted to reach across the table and grab Gavin’s hand, and once wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but after how strange things had been between them, it felt strange, and she clutched her spoon a little tighter instead. 

Meg didn’t seem to have realised the shift in the mood - she was staring into the distance, smiling a bit nostalgically.

“Jeremy was great,” she said, softly. “He and Penelope and I - that’s my ex girlfriend - we used to hang out together. Our little band.”  
  
Lindsay bit her lip, surprised by the flash of jealousy that struck her at the mention of the ex. She swallowed it away. _Don’t be stupid. Like you haven’t been irrational enough already_.

“We all had somewhat… dodgy backgrounds. Not like a lot of the nobles - nothing against them, a lot of them were very nice people, but they were all intellectuals, very interested in the study of magic. There to learn and grow and investigate. We came from… rougher parts. My family were bounty hunters, Penny had been abandoned as a baby and raised by a witch in the wilderness-”  
  
“That’s like something from a fairytale!” Gavin breathed, and Meg laughed.

“That’s what I thought,” she agreed. “And Jeremy was a commoner whose village was slaughtered by bandits. One of them was a sorcerer. Jeremy was one of the few survivors - it pushed him to want to know about magic, but he always had a darker motive. Interested in the magic of life and death - necromancy, blood spells, forbidden shit. That stuff has the potential to endanger a lot of people if it goes wrong. Fair enough that it shouldn’t be practiced in public, but at the College everything was contained. It should’ve been safe. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have at least tried to _understand_ it.”

“Oooooh,” Gavin said, very dubiously, “I don’t know much about that sort of magic.”  
  
“It’s the sort of shit the Church of Anarchy do,” Lindsay contributed, and Meg pulled a face,

"Kind of? Not really, I mean - they cast hexes and call it their god’s favour. It’s not proper spellcasting in the magical sense. More like a charm, but a bad one.”  
  
“Like a _curse_!” Gavin cried gleefully.

“No,” Meg corrected, “There is a very specific definition of what a curse is. But this isn’t a magic lesson. End of the story is, Jeremy got too curious for his own good. He started reading more forbidden books, trying out spells for himself. When the arch-mages found out, he was shunned and eventually expelled. He lives in the north now, in a city called Vale. I think his branch of magic might be more useful to us.”  
  
“You said it was dangerous,” Lindsay said instantly, her protective instincts kicking in. “That shit could be volatile-”  
  
“I’d never let him hurt Gavin,” Meg cut in, just as fiercely. “I trust that he knows what he’s doing. Penelope didn’t - that’s why we broke up.”

Gavin just sat there looking sort of stunned, and eventually Meg shifted, and reached out to pat his hand.

“Anyway,” she said, “It’s something to think about. Even if he just has _information_ that could help us - it’s worth a try.”  
  
“Of course.” The story over, Gavin's enthusiasm had waned again, and he just looked tired and a bit worried. “When do you think we’ll hit Ramsey’s city?”  
  
“Tonight, if we can hitch a ride with someone,” Meg replied.

Both of them jolted. _Tonight? I didn’t realise we were that close._ Lindsay started to smile, but the colour had drained from Gavin’s face.

“Oh. Okay!” he said, and pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll see you out there. I’m just gonna go and throw up real quick.”  
  
“What?” Lindsay sat up and grabbed for his wrist as he passed, but he slipped out of her reach. “Gav-”  
  
“Let him go.” Meg put a hand on her arm and Lindsay froze, all her hair standing on end. “Of course he’s nervous. Destiny is catching up with him.” 

“Someone should be with him,” Lindsay protested. 

“Michael went that way.” Meg’s lips twitched, but when Lindsay didn’t reply they fell into a sullen pause.

She wasn’t angry. Not really. Just - still torn between everything that was happening, and unsure what _she_ wanted. She didn’t think last night had made anything clearer.

“So…” she said finally, desperate to fill the silence. She snuck a glance at Meg and found the other woman watching her, too, but biting her lip a bit nervously. “What do we do now?”

Meg opened her mouth to undoubtedly make a snarky comment about how they’d just come up with a plan, and Lindsay quickly made a rather flailing gesture to encompass the two of them, the boys, the awkward silence.

“Ah,” Meg said, and paused. “What we always do, I suppose. Wait.”  
  
“We can’t wait forever. We’re nearly at the north. Things are catching up with us as well.”

Meg hesitated.

“Look,” she said finally, “I’m not… not usually this indecisive about things, it’s just - this situation is strange. With Michael and you and Gav it’s all _different_. I had fun last night,” she offered, a bit helplessly.

“Me too,” Lindsay whispered.

“Was that your first time with a woman?”  
  
“First time doing anything,” Lindsay admitted. “Didn’t exactly get lessons like Gav!”

“Oh,” Meg replied, her eyes widening. This information seemed to scare her. She licked her lips quickly and asked, “What do you want out of this, Lindsay?”  
  
Fucking hell, just the question was terrifying. She didn’t have an answer - how could she say _I want you. I want Gavin. I think I might want Michael, too._ How was that possible or acceptable or anything other than a terrible idea? But she knew what she felt - torn in three directions, crushed with desire but so, so fucking scared as well.

“I… I don’t think I can say,” she whispered finally. “There aren’t - words for it.”

Meg swallowed, hard.

“You and Gavin,” she said, slowly. “You belong together. Anyone can see it. How close you are, the way you look at each other… I know you grew up together but it’s not just that. You adore him. And he thinks the world of you, too.”

_We fit together,_ Lindsay thought, _but it’s not all the pieces._ But she thought giving voice to that would scare Meg away, and instead she bit her lip and took a deep breath. _Pull it together._

“What matters,” she said slowly, “Is we’re a team. We’re working together - we’re helping each other out. Right now, Michael can help Gavin with what he needs. I think I needed last night, too.” Her face heated, shyly, but she pushed on. “So thank you. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that-” she saw Meg freeze, a little hurt, and added, “Not right now, anyway.”  
  
Meg’s face softened.

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly. “If it was your first, I don’t want to-”  
  
“I won’t get too invested, Meg. Not that I don’t want to, just - my mind’s on the mission. Right now all I want is to kill Taurin.”  
  
Bloodthirsty as it was, it seemed _that_ was what Meg understood, an emotion and drive she was at least familiar with - and approved of. She smiled, and Lindsay barely had time to register just how beautiful she was before she was moving forward, into Lindsay’s space.

“That’s the spirit,” she murmured, and leaned in to kiss her on the side of the mouth - close-lipped, oddly chaste, but it still made Lindsay blush and smile. Meg pulled back and squeezed her shoulder.

“Come on - let’s round up the boys and get on the road. We want to reach Ramsey by tonight.”


	13. Chapter 13

Night was just beginning to fall by the time they arrived at the capital, and as they emerged from the forest road onto the broad mountain path that led up to the south gates of Achievement City, Meg couldn't be more relieved.

All of them were jumpy as fuck, and had been for the last few hours. She didn't think she'd ever flinched at so many shadows.

It was sheer fucking paranoia, because they'd been walking all day without encountering so much as a particularly aggressive mosquito - but the sight of Taurin's men yesterday had unsettled all of them. But now, having found no sign of them, it seemed like they were in the clear... or at least, Meg hoped so.

As they got closer and closer to the city, they began to encounter more travellers. It was oddly relieving. They were far enough from the south now that she doubted any bounty hunters would be after her and Michael here, so for once the number of people around was actually comforting. It felt safer somehow, and she could see Michael beginning to smile more as they trailed along with the others headed in the same direction - Lindsay, too.

_Lindsay._

God, _there_ was something Meg had been trying not to think about. She'd barely spoken to the other woman all day, and although things weren't exactly _awkward_ , she was still glad they hadn't been alone together and forced to properly talk about what'd happened last night. Because truth be told, Meg really had no idea where the fuck her head was at these days.

Lindsay had been the one safe place, where Meg didn't have to worry about where she stood. But last night, something had shifted. The paladin just had... something about her, something that Meg couldn't quite fit into the way she usually understood things. She liked Lindsay, wanted her admiration in a way she usually didn't care about. It was different from the comfortable way she clicked with Michael; the two of them were always on the same wavelength. And different from how easy Gavin was to get along with, how simply affectionate he was. The two of them clashed a hell of a lot, but Meg still wanted her in a way she couldn't quite describe or explain.

Now, she finally fell back by Lindsay's side as more and more people arrived from an intersecting road. Travellers, merchants, a troop of returning soldiers. The traffic picked up and they formed a single weary mess, trudging along, dishevelled and grimy from their long journeys, all with the same aching exhaustion hanging off them.

"Gavin's nervous," Lindsay said, as Meg came up beside her.

Meg raised an eyebrow and looked over at the boys. They were walking up ahead, side by side. Michael was holding Gavin's wrist in a loose grip, and Meg had to snort. She knew he wouldn't go so far as to hold Gavin's hand, but that was as close as he could possibly get, and she could read him a mile away.

"We've mostly been in country towns," she murmured. "The capital's gonna be huge in comparison. I think we should be in the clear, but I still don't like that we don't know where Taurin's men went. Keep your eyes and ears open."

"Well, you can't really shut your ears, but sure," Lindsay said, and Meg rolled her eyes.

"Idiot," she said, but it was fond, and Lindsay laughed. Meg couldn't help the way her own lips twitched into a smile.

They moved up along with the boys, clustering together. Gavin's eyes were huge and Meg reached out, pressed his arm briefly.

"All good?"

"Yeah," Michael grunted. His eyes were darting around, scanning the crowds vigilantly. "Everyone stay close."

"You got it," Meg said, and grimaced as they were jostled. As the road led towards the gates it narrowed, everyone shoving for their place to get in.

The city wall loomed up ahead of them, casting a heavy, dark shadow as the sun set behind it. Meg tilted her head back, amazed at the scale of the place, at the immense turrets and heavy cannons that pointed south. She could see the small silhouette of a boy walking along the top of the wall, beginning to light the torches. They flickered to life one by one, a series of small, reassuring glows, like the stars were slowly waking up. It was the last gasps of dusk by now, an orange light settling over the sky and slowly fading out to indigo.

Meg hadn't been this far North before, and it felt different. As they began to pass through the gates, the buildings she could see were much taller, much closer together, making the streets feel claustrophobically small. There were far fewer religious symbols around, no statues, murals or shrines to be seen. The guards were heavily rugged up against the winter cold, and the white fur around their hoods made them all look a little like fluffy bears. She liked their uniforms, in the emerald green that was the colour of the Ramsey crest.

They were also quite strict- pulling people at random to question them on their business in the city, and Meg bit her lip.

_Maybe we won't get picked._

Unfortunately Michael's bear cloak was pretty hard to miss in a crowd, and as they passed the keep a voice shouted, "You, hold up there!"

Meg grimaced. Michael continued power-walking, pretending he hadn't heard, but the guard snagged his arm and yanked him back. Their entire group stopped and the guard glanced between them all.

"You lot together?"

"Yeah," Meg said, and the guard nodded for them to step aside. Gavin pulled a frightful face and Meg came up by his side as they followed the man.

"Stop looking like you're about to shit yourself," she hissed. "I got this."

Michael glanced over his shoulder at her and she mouthed, 'follow my lead.' He nodded.

"What's your business in the city?" the guard demanded, eying each of them suspiciously. Meg stepped forward before any of the others could speak. Her heart was thrumming and she was thoroughly aware that they looked like mercenaries and that the guards probably didn't want bounty hunters and assassins running willy-nilly in their capital city.

"We're hired protection," she lied, smoothly. "These two are paladins of Sol who are here to visit the library as part of their study."

It was a far more reputable occupation, but the guard still looked dubious.

"Why would paladins need protection?"

"He's from a rich family," she said, jostling Gavin's shoulder. He gave a weak smile, swallowing hard as the guard looked him up and down.

"Then why's he dressed like that?"

"So it's not obvious? We hardly want to advertise it," she pointed out, and was rather pleased by how smoothly it came out. Gods, she was a fucking amazing liar. _You're welcome, guys._

The guard stared at her for a minute. She gazed steadily back at him, confident that not a trace of guilt was showing on her face. Finally, he sighed.

"Let me search your bag."

"Go ahead," she said, and they all dumped their packs on the ground. Aside from their weapons - typical enough for hired swords - there was fuck all in there that was incriminating aside from her books, but even those could be explained away. Still, it didn't stop the others looking nervous. Meg wasn't sure why. They hadn't done anything wrong to feel guilty about, but Gavin was clutching his pendant and had the sort of vaguely constipated look on his face that Meg figured meant he was praying frantically to Sol in his mind. She reached out and rubbed his back.

"Go on through," the guard said finally, handing their bags back, and she heard Lindsay, behind her, let out a stream of breath. They gathered their things and rejoined the crowds moving into the city.

"Fuck, Meg," Lindsay breathed, as soon as they were clear. "You're a good liar."

"Thanks," Meg replied, pleased, "But also we legitimately haven't done anything in this kingdom. There's no reason we shouldn't be allowed in the city. I was just worried they'd question us about being here for a bounty, but luckily we're in the clear."

"That was some tight security, though," Michael pointed out, frowning. "I wouldn't think they'd normally check people that closely. I've never heard about the city being like this."

"Ramsey's probably on edge with Taurin gearing up for war," Meg pointed out, and bit her lip. "And given what we saw at the border, it looks like he's right to be. Anyway, we're in, so that's one hurdle crossed."

And indeed they were in, and moments later the sprawling scape of the city wiped the gate security from their minds. It was huge, bustling, the streets tracing twisting narrow paths between buildings nearly tall enough to block out the sky. Meg had never seen so many people, so many carts and carriages navigating around one another in such a small, crowded place. It was dark by now and everyone was lighting lanterns, candles, street lamps - the area slowly filling with a warm red glow that she recognised as redstone; it wasn't used often in the south because of how complicated it was to put together. The crimson light that it cast across the city was foreign, but somehow not as sinister as it could've been. Instead there was something festive about it, coupled with the gently falling snow and the smell of roasting chestnuts in the air.

She didn't even want to think about the sort of sensory overload Gavin must be getting. The place was noisy with the rattle of wheels on cobblestones, storekeepers shouting and the occasional burst of music from a busker. The smell of piss and waste in the streets was covered over with roasting meat, incense, spices from street vendors. Someone bumped roughly into her and she whirled around.

"Watch it!" she yelled.

"Hey." Lindsay gripped her arm, steadying her. "You alright?"

Meg nodded, embarrassed by her quick temper. The place was so crowded it was hard _not_ to bump people.

"Some people are rude," she muttered, sheepishly, and Lindsay pulled a face.

"There's no way we're getting to Ramsey tonight!" Michael shouted, leaning in so they could hear him over the crowds. "Let's find an inn somewhere out of this busy area and then I'll start asking around about how to get an audience!"

"Sounds good," Meg agreed, and Michael jerked his head, although Meg couldn't see what he was trying to point to; everything was so dizzyingly busy.

"I'll go buy a map!" he said, and slipped off into the masses. Gavin promptly moved to Meg's side and clung to her arm instead. She saw Lindsay's eyes track his movement before flickering away to the side, and grimaced. She'd noticed there was still lingering weirdness between them, and hoped they'd sort this shit out soon.

"C'mon," she muttered, and tugged both of them against the nearest wall, out of the way of everyone trying to get in and out of the gates. It was only when she dumped her heavy pack on the ground and stretched her shoulders that she realised how fucking tired she was. They'd been walking all day for weeks. It added up.

"You okay?" she asked Gavin. He was staring into space like he was lost, and shook himself at her voice.

"What? Yeah. Just." He swallowed and gave a weak smile. "End of the road, innit?"

"Don't made it sound all depressing," she grumbled, and he raised his hands.

"No, I'm not sad - just... nervous. This is what I've been working towards since leaving the Isle. My sole quest. It was good having something to focus on. But now I just... I've got no fucking idea what'll happen next."

He looked down, something too vulnerable in his face, and Meg softened. She reached out and rubbed his arm soothingly.

"We'll sort it out," she whispered, and Gavin nodded.

"I'm just glad I'm not alone," he said, peering up at her. "I feel like if I was I'd just sort of be wandering about with no bloody idea what I'm doing."

"No you wouldn't," Lindsay cut in. "You're more capable than you think."

Gavin looked over at her. Their eyes met, but after a briefly awkward moment, they exchanged a small smile, and he reached out and squeezed her hand. Meg knew, suddenly, that they'd be okay. No matter how all this played out between them, they'd always come back to each other. A bond as strong as a lifetime of friendship couldn't be damaged so easily-

And suddenly, she remembered how she and Michael had agreed that they'd sort things out between them when they reached here. Her heart slammed in her chest; it startled her, how scared she was suddenly. She hadn't realised how much it meant to her until this moment, and suddenly she was sick and nervous in a way she hadn't been earlier. She'd only just remembered how much was on the line here - and how everything was going to change. Gavin was right, it was the end of the road. When they were travelling, they could put off thinking about things. Not any more.

This time she was the one who swallowed and looked away.

"It's gonna be fine," she murmured, "Don't worry. We'll figure things out and Ramsey will know what to do."

"Hey," a voice behind her said, and she turned.

Michael was walking towards them with a map. At the sight of him, smiling and waving it in the air, Meg's heart skipped a beat.

Suddenly, she knew she loved him; her last doubts faded.

It was stupid. Felt odd that it should all just click into place out of nowhere. But in the noise and bustle of the city, in the uncertainty of where things were going to go... she knew it suddenly, acutely. She knew it in how relieved she was that he was here too, in how just the sight of him could make everything feel so much steadier. She knew it in how much she trusted him to be able to get them where they needed to be. She knew it in how much she _wanted_ this to work out - in how her biggest fear about the future was that it _wouldn't._

"Got the map!" Michael continued, brightly. "I think I found a good inn, so let's hustle."

His eyes met hers and her mouth went dry suddenly, shy in a girlish, silly sort of way that she hadn't been in years. He nodded at her with a smile; she smiled back, self-consciously, and tugged the others to follow him.

 

* * *

 

Meg found it impossible to sleep that night.

The inn was nice - not too pricey, but clean and comfortable, and after being on the go for so long, she should've been exhausted. They'd had good mead and a hot dinner, and pored over the city map together, and things had actually been quite jovial. A sort of hysterical, last-celebration before tomorrow's trials.

But every time she tried to close her eyes, her mind just wouldn't relax.

She was sharing a room with Lindsay, and there'd been a slightly awkward moment earlier when they both undressed that they'd both just sort of powered through. Now the other woman was sleeping sounding, lying completely still on the bed on the other side of the room. She must've been exhausted, too. If she was pretending, she was still as a log. Meg envied her that peace.

After a while of fruitlessly letting her mind race in circles, she got up, pulled on her coat and headed out to the common area near the bar. The inn was very quiet, very dark. She wasn't used to this city, its sounds, its smells. Even the air felt different.

The fire was low, embers now. She sat on one of the couches in front of it and flared it up with a bolt of magic, then sat warming her hands. Something tickled her neck and she reached up to find a stray feather caught in her hair; she scoffed, picking it out, and sat spinning it around and around between her fingers.

Jeremy drifted into her thoughts suddenly. She missed him, wished he was here, too. Just someone else on their side to help figure this shit out.

And then, for the first time in a long time, she missed Penelope.

It was stupid, because they were over, and the end had been ugly, and she was probably the last person her ex-girlfriend would ever want to see again. But sometimes, you just... missed the good bits about another person. Sometimes you remembered the time when they'd been your warmth and security, and you felt their absence like a hole in your head.

She pulled her feet up with a sigh, tucking them under her to keep warm. A noise behind her made her jump; she whirled around, hand going to the knife at her belt, but immediately recognised Gavin's silhouette in the door frame, his hair sticking up at all sorts of gravity-defying angles.

"Sorry," he called out in a low voice, "Did I startle you?"

"Just a little," she scoffed.

Gavin crept across the room. He sat on the couch next to her and stared into the crackling blaze. When he reached up after a moment, touching his chest absently, she knew he must be thinking of the Flame.

There were dark bags under his eyes, and she'd noticed lately that he had a sort of permanent drawn, haunted look, even when he was smiling. Anyone would, she supposed, after seeing essentially their entire family slaughtered in front of them. But she wondered, suddenly, what he'd looked like before - when he actually was carefree and bright. If he'd carried himself differently, if this - the only Gavin she'd known - was really _him._ And she wondered, too, what Lindsay'd been like before.

She shook herself.

"Can't sleep?" she asked eventually, and he looked over with a sheepish smile.

"No. It's hard nowadays," he admitted.

"Tell me about it. I guess tomorrow we'll finally know how this is gonna play out."

He nodded, fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves, not quite looking at her.

"I was actually looking for you," he said, abruptly, and Meg raised an eyebrow.

"In the middle of the night?"

"I heard your door open before." Now he met her eyes, his gaze too earnest, too bright. She couldn't look away - in the firelight, the dancing flames reflected in his green eyes and for a moment it almost looked like she was staring right into his soul, staring into the Flame of Sol. "I wanted to say thank you... for getting me here. I know you didn't want to come."

Gods, it felt like forever ago that she'd been fighting with Michael over agreeing to help them. She thought back to those early days with shame - and honestly, there still wasn't any sort of noble intention, not for their goal or quest or whatever. But somewhere along the line she'd ended up caring - about him, about Lindsay.

"I know you and Michael risked a lot," he continued, "And without you two we probably wouldn't have been able to get here. So. Thank you."

"It's okay," she whispered, and when he reached over and took her hand it made a tingle spread over her skin that startled her.

Things with Lindsay were different. She knew she got along with Gavin, knew she liked him more than she liked a lot of people. Her rough edges tended to make it hard to click with people, but with him, things were easy. That didn't happen often.

And she wasn't an idiot, she'd seen the way he looked at her too. But suddenly she was scared to do anything - make things real. Because Lindsay loved Gavin, it was obvious, so it'd been safe for Meg to do shit with her. It didn't have to mean anything. 

But Gavin... bringing him into this... then again, Michael had pretty much dragged him in already. Or been dragged in, apparently.

All of this was just tying things in knots that were becoming more and more complicated. She was worried she'd get them more tangled up than they can handle.

"You know no matter what happens, we all got your back, yeah?" she asked.

"I know," Gavin said, and smiled a bit. "I just want all this to be over - one way or another."

She squeezed his hand back, and they fell into silence. Somehow they ended up staying there - sitting, staring into the fire together, hands loosely clasped. It was nice - comforting - and she thought with a sudden fierce affection that the priests could not have asked for anyone better. Anyone more devoted, more pure, more selfless than he was. Anyone who wouldn't give up. And she wouldn't have helped just anybody. They sat, and waited, not sleeping - just waiting for the sun to rise, for this next leg of the journey to finally begin.

 

* * *

 

"I've scoped things out," Michael announced the next morning, "Figured out our next step."

It was a brisk, fine morning, but they'd still bundled up against the winter chill in the air even as they sat in one of the bedrooms. Meg chewed her lip nervously - they'd gone down to the inn's dining hall for breakfast earlier, while Michael was out figuring out where they had to go, but no one had really been able to eat anything. They were all sick and anxious.

She'd barely slept last night, just drifted in and out of a light doze - but she was too nervous to feel tired.

Outwardly, she and Michael looked as calm as ever, but she knew him well enough to tell he was anxious - his lips were tight at the corners, and his fingers were drumming agitatedly against his side. Still, if you didn't know him, you wouldn't notice. Her own face was stone-cold but inside she was like ten seconds and one ill-timed burp away from just full on hurling.

Lindsay was clearly fidgety, her hand rubbing the pommel of her sword almost obsessively. And Gavin - Gavin was practically bouncing off the walls. He looked like shit, face white as a ghost and eyes in sunken wells, and he couldn't sit still. The only reason he wasn't pacing was because Lindsay had finally grabbed his arm and yanked him to sit down on the bed, and even now he was twisting his fingers around and around in the end of his scarf, and pulling the laces of his shirt into knots then unpicking them.

"For most people," Michael explained, "When they've got an issue or case to put to the city, they have to file a form and the court will delegate someone to look into it, but that tends to take weeks. The law-keepers are a more direct step, but since technically no crime was committed in Ramsey's own land, I don't know how seriously they'd take this. What we want is to get an audience with the king himself, and the main way is to go through the city hall. But it's... usually reserved for people known to the court somehow."

"So not any Tom, Dick or Harry could just walk in," Meg mused.

"Yeah, or he'd be inundated with requests."

"Inundated," Gavin murmured, presumably just because he liked the sound of the word.

"So we're gonna try that?" Meg asked.

"We're gonna _try._ Hopefully they know of Gavin? Like, since the priests sent him _here,_ that seems to be the implication," Michael said, but so dubiously that Meg had to raised her eyebrows.

"And if it doesn't work?"

"I have a vague back up plan, but let's try this first. It's so vague that I don't wanna tell you right now," he added, when she opened her mouth, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Alright. Let’s do this, then,” she said, and jumped up. Lindsay and Gavin scrambled off the bed, but as they trooped towards the door Michael held up a hand.

“Hang on a second! We can’t just go in there looking like we just rolled out of bed. They won’t give us the time of day. Gavin, go shave for gods’ sake,” he ordered, and Gavin sheepishly ran a hand over his chin, which was looking particularly scruffy. “And fix your fucking hair. Lindsay, you’re not wearing that - go put on that new armour I got you. And pull your hair back.”  
  
Lindsay rolled her eyes and gave him a mocking salute, but wandered out towards her room.

“Meg,” Michael began, turning to her, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Go on,” she challenged, and Michael gave her a sheepish thumbs up.

“You’re fine,” he said, and she laughed. Still - she untied her hair to re-do it more neatly, and put on her nicer cloak. When she looked across the room, Michael was standing next to Gavin at the washbasin, fussing over his hair and trying to get it to stay up out of his eyes. He looked like a mother cat trying to groom its kitten, and she had to huff out a laugh before walking over to the mirror to fix her hair.

 

* * *

 

Michael had learned a long time ago that the secret to getting anywhere was just looking like you knew what the fuck you were doing. Confidence was the best disguise.

Still. It didn’t mean he wasn’t absolutely shitting himself. It wasn’t being in the noble district or heading towards the palace that had his stomach sinking into his shoes - it was the fact that, right now, they were all relying on him, because Lindsay and Gavin sure didn’t have a clue what they were doing. And Meg, as tough and smart as she was, didn’t know the world of courts and nobility. That was all him.

And it’d been one thing to be responsible for protecting Gavin and getting him north. That was easy - he did that sort of gig for a living.

But this… this was a world he hadn’t been prepared to return to, and it was a heavier weight on his shoulders than he’d realised.

“Act natural,” he whispered as they approached the palace. “And don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.”  
  
He had to grimace at the sight of them - they were all walking like they had sticks up their arses, shuffling along stiff and out of place, peering around with huge eyes. He heard Gavin gasp a little as they approached their destination.

They hadn’t really been to any of the rich districts in the cities they’d been to - now they were passing immense mansions and vibrant, posh store-fronts, bearing beautiful silks, racks of colourful spices and antique wears. But all of those things paled in comparison to the palace.

The wall loomed above them. Painted a bright red, it looked like a coiled dragon; glimmering windows set along it like shimmering scales, a series of spikes and turrets pointing up like ridged spines along its back. Now and then a light pulsed along the top, or in one of the windows. Redstone traps, he knew. It was an odd sight; Ramsey’s was one of the few kingdoms that had ready access to the material. The south was all firelight. 

Beyond the wall he could see the palace spires - tall, white, twisting towers that stretched up into colourful domed roofs. Against the clear sky they looked whimsical, in their myriad of bright blues, golds, pinks and greens. Beside him, Gavin gave a yell of delight.

“It looks like a great big cake!” he cried, with tremendous glee.

“I’m sure the architect would love that description,” Michael scoffed.

“It does though! The domes look like icing. By Sol, I am hungry now!”  
  
“You’re hungry because we passed like ten expensive bakeries,” Meg pointed out, “And they smelled _amazing_ , and because you didn’t eat breakfast.”  
  
“I love the cake building,” Gavin barrelled on, studiously ignoring her comment because he may or may not have been bitching about how he was hungry earlier despite being the one person to refuse to eat anything back at the inn, “But I’m not keen on the colour of the wall.”  
  
“Fucking hell, since when are you the artistic expert on building design?” Michael asked, and poked him in the side. Gavin laughed and squirmed away. Michael was just glad to see him smiling; they’d all been so anxious before. He was glad the tension was finally broken.

“I just think it’d look better yellow!”  
  
“You think _everything_ would look better yellow!” Michael said, throwing his hands up.

“No, I’m serious, Michael! Those yellow pants we saw back at the market would look top on you!” 

Lindsay laughed, and Michael had to roll his eyes.

“You’re the fucking worst,” he grumbled. “Anyway, we’re here.”  
  
They passed through a gate towards the city hall - a rather more conservative looking brick building that was set into the side of the palace wall. Two guards were standing at the entrance, and they raised their hands, blocking them from entering.

Michael saw their eyes scanning over them. He knew they didn’t look rich. They weren’t _shabby_ , he’d made sure everyone was put together before they got here, and he knew _he_ was passing as confident - but still. They definitely didn’t look wealthy.

One of the guards’ eyes flicked dubiously back up to Michael’s.

“...you have an appointment?” he demanded.

“We’re here to make one,” Michael replied, without missing a beat.

“Name?”  
  
“Michael Jones of Winchester. We bear important news for King Ramsey on behalf of the Priesthood of Sol.”  
  
The guard’s eyebrows rose. He looked them over again, and Michael held his gaze steadily. Nothing he had said was technically untrue, so despite his pounding heart, he hoped his sincerity came across.

He realised, with a start, that he hadn’t stood like this in a long time. Head high, chin lifted to the sky. Rather than tense and looming as much as he could, given that he wasn’t a particularly tall guy - trying to _intimidate_ \- instead he looked like he didn’t _need_ to intimidate anyone, because he was rich enough to own everything in the room.

But the attitude felt foreign now, like a jacket he hadn’t worn in too long now, tight in all the wrong places, loose in others. Without his bearskin cloak he felt more naked than he wanted to admit.

Finally, the guard nodded.

“No weapons in the town hall,” he grunted.

“Michael,” Meg began uncertainly, but he just cast her a look and she bit her lip. They handed over their swords and knives without complaint; Michael wasn’t worried. Meg had her magic and besides, they were definitely not here to pick a fight, not to mention in the heart of Ramsey’s citadel there were more than enough guards around, and for once they were all on the same side.

They were nodded through, and as they walked in the large doors Michael let out a slow breath. Let himself close his eyes, just for a second.

_So far, so good. Come on. Come on._

_You got this._

A hand brushed against his back and he looked over to see Meg. She gave him a reassuring smile; he managed one back before they entered into a spacious, sunlit room. A large counter at the far end was surrounded by shelves stacked with books and parchments. Behind it was a woman, who looked up at their approach. She was clearly highborn, dressed in an expensive gown with her face beautifully made up. She was younger than Michael had expected, and startlingly attractive - but as soon as her eyes ran over them, her polite smile twisted into a look of confusion, and then an annoyed sort of glare.

"Wow, she's really pretty," Lindsay blurted out. Beside Michael, Meg stiffened a little. 

The woman had clearly heard, but she just scowled deeper, and Michael instantly got a sinking feeling. She was looking at them like she had no clue what they were doing in here, and he saw her pull a face at the guard who was standing behind them.

"Oh my Gods, that's a giant pot," Lindsay continued, looking around the room and stopping in her tracks at the sight of what was, indeed, a rather immense bit of pottery in the corner. "Oh hey, it has the gods on it! Look, Gav, it's Sol!"

"Oh my," Gavin replied, rather weakly.

"Hey, what's in there?" Lindsay asked cheerfully, as they approached the desk.

"Nothing," the woman replied, coldly, "It is purely decorative."

"Lindsay," Michael hissed, and shushed her. She raised her eyebrows and mimed tying her lips shut. There was a prolonged, awkward silence in which Michael felt all his hope slowly suffocate to death. Finally, the woman behind the desk gave him the most passive aggressive eyebrow raise he'd ever experienced. It kind of hurt his soul a little.

"So can I help you with something?"

"Yes," he replied, and swallowed, stepping forward in front of the others. _Pull yourself together, idiot._ "We've travelled a long way to get here, all the way from the South. We have important information for King Ramsey - we've had to evade the Warlord to get here. It's vital that we seek an audience with him."

He'd thought dropping Taurin's name might cause a bit of urgency, but the woman just stared blankly at him, deeply unimpressed.

"And what exactly is this vital information?"

Michael opened his mouth and promptly realised exactly how fucking ridiculous the entire story sounded if you hadn't been there to experience it. Gavin, carrying the Flame of Sol around in his chest? Chosen ones that materialised from the sky in beams of sunlight? Taurin hiring two common bounty hunters to track down one acolyte?

"He," he said finally, pointing at Gavin, who gave a sheepish little wave, "Escaped the massacre on the Isle of Sol. The Warlord was responsible and has been tracking him ever since. He's carrying a lot of important magic that Taurin wants to get his hands on. The priests told him that King Ramsey would help. If Taurin gets his hands on this magic it'll be really, really bad for..."

He trailed off. The woman was staring at him like he was either crazy or a total idiot, and he realised with a sinking heart that it really did sound ridiculous.

"Do you have any sort of identification to prove you've been sent by the priesthood of Sol?" she asked finally. "Some sort of letter or seal..."

Michael opened his mouth. Then shut it again.

"Um," he managed.

"Because," she continued, impatiently, "Right now I just see four commoners standing in front of me with a terribly wild story. I can't let just anyone in to see the King."

"No, we're telling the truth. We'll prove it." He leaned towards Gavin and whispered, furiously, "Help me out here, Gav! You don't have anything from the priests?"

"You burned all my stuff!" Gavin pointed out. "I can show her the scar?"

"Do not show her the fucking scar."

"You're wasting my time," the woman snapped, and rummaged around on the desk before handing Michael a piece of parchment. "If you have some sort of complaint, you need to go through the proper channels and fill in this form. The city will look into it."

"No, we don't have time, it's urgent-"

"If you've got some issue with the Isle of Sol, you should have gone to the Southern Lawkeepers - excuse me!" she shrieked, glaring over Michael's shoulder, "Please do not mess with that! You'll be thrown out!"

Michael glanced over his shoulder to find Lindsay guiltily inching back away from the pot. He turned back to the woman and grimaced; he could practically feel the annoyance radiating off her.

"Look," he said, giving her his most winning smile, "Let's be reasonable, here-"

"You're wasting my time," she barked, and gave him a look so angry it could boil an egg. "Frankly, I don't believe you. You think I don't get dozens of idiots in here every day trying to get in front of the king? Let alone ones with fantastical stories about the Warlord and the Isle and some sort of magic!"

Michael opened his mouth to argue, but Meg put a hand on his elbow and stepped forward. She smiled charmingly. The woman was untouched.

"I know you must be terribly busy," Meg tried, softly, "And I can't imagine how many people must come in here and pester you-"

"Yes," she snapped, "The way you are pestering me right now!"

He saw a muscle jump in Meg's clenched jaw.

"Look," she replied, slow now - barely holding back her temper, Michael knew - "If we could just-"

"Are you all stupid?" the woman demanded, glaring at all four of them. "You think King Ramsey has time for your idiocy?"

"I was led to believe he had time for everyone!" Meg snarled back at her. Michael put a hand on her arm. The woman stood from the desk and gestured at the guard standing at the door behind them.

"I need to ask you to leave," she said icily. "Please do not come back here. We won't be letting you back in."

"Bitch," Meg muttered, as they turned away. Lindsay's head snapped up from where she was still wandering around the room.

"Want me to knock over the pot?" she asked, eagerly. "Because I will _knock over the pot!"_

"No, thanks," Michael said quickly, as the guard started towards them, and frantically bundled them all out the door. They collected their weapons and within moments they were back out on the street, disgruntled and rather put out.

"How rude!" Gavin cried. "Just because we're not rich!"

"That's how the world is, buddy," Michael replied glumly. "Although to be fair, our story does sound a bit... odd, to put it mildly, to anyone who wasn't part of it. Also, a lot of people up here don't even worship Sol. The priesthood doesn't have as much weight here as it does around the middle of the continent."

"But there's still a Temple of Sol here, right?" Lindsay asked eagerly. "Let's go there instead! Maybe the priests can help us figure out who to talk to!"

"Yes," Gavin agreed, "That would've been my first port of call if I'd been here on my own anyway!"

"The temple here isn't big. I checked the maps the other day. If we were in Solaire, it might be an idea, but here? I don't know what they could even do to help us. They'd probably just be regular priests, no heads or high priests who might have connections in the city," Michael replied, as he absently grabbed Gavin's arm and pulled him out of the way of a passing pedestrian. "We're gonna have to go with plan B."

"Ooh, your mysterious plan B," Meg replied, wiggling her eyebrows until he pulled a face at her. "So we get to find out what it is after all."

"It's shit and we'll probably get arrested, but we don't have many other options," Michael said.

"I'm even more excited now that I know it's something illegal."

"Okay, but let's go to one of those bakeries first," Gavin said, "Because I'm very hungry."

 

* * *

 

After such a horrendous experience that morning, Michael was actually feeling oddly relaxed, if a little out of place as they went to one of the bread shops they'd passed when travelling through the wealthy district. A lot of the people around them were noblemen and women, but given that it was winter and nearly everyone was bundled up in heavy cloaks and coats, they pretty much blended in even if they weren't quite as well-dressed.

He was up by the counter with Gavin while the girls went to find a table. The other man was carefully selecting which pastries they wanted to try and had spent an inordinate amount of time cooing over a selection of rolls that were shaped like cats. Michael had to roll his eyes, but he couldn't help the warm, fond swell in his chest.

Finally they got in line and he couldn't help but stare at Gavin. He was smiling, his face totally relaxed now and clearly in very high spirits. After how jumpy he'd been this morning, it was... suspicious.

"I'm surprised you're not freaking out," Michael commented, and Gavin glanced over at him. "Everything's going horribly wrong."

"But you have a plan B!"

"My plan B is so bad, mate, once you hear it you won't be saying that so happily."

"I trust you, Michael," Gavin informed him, and Michael bit his lip, a little surprised by how the words sent a pleased fluttering through his stomach. "You'll get us out of this."

"Still. I'd almost say you're relieved things didn't work," Michael said, and when Gavin looked away guiltily, he knew he'd hit the nail on the head. "Wait, seriously? You actually are?"

Gavin was silent for a long moment. They moved up in line, and Michael paid for the bread, but before they moved to rejoin the girls he tugged Gavin aside a little.

"What's going on?" he asked. "You okay?"

Gavin nodded. He took a shaky breath and then looked up at Michael a bit sheepishly.

"Yeah. You're right, I just - I was so scared this morning how things were going to go. I just - I know Ramsey's gonna help us, and I do want the Flame to get to him. But we have no idea what'll happen after this. What he'll say or what he'll do or what he'll want _us_ to do. I guess I'm just scared of how much things are gonna change. I know we have to do it, I'm just... I'm glad we can put it off a little longer, even if I know it's gotta happen eventually." He gave a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I guess I'm just being a coward."

"You're not a coward," Michael said fiercely. "You're braver than most people I know. That's understandable, Gavin. I'm nervous too."

"You don't look nervous."

"I'm good at hiding it." He reached out and rubbed Gavin's arm, and the other man leaned into his touch, closing his eyes for a moment. It made Michael pause.

Things the last few weeks had been... good. Really good. He'd tried not to think too hard about it, had just wanted to enjoy things, but he and Gavin...

They didn't talk about what they'd been doing much. That had been a deliberate choice, even if it was quite clearly some sort of unadvisable avoidance strategy. But Michael liked him. He really did. He liked how the other man challenged him, how he made him laugh, how they poked fun at each other like they were the oldest of friends. He liked how comfortable things felt with him, and how much Gavin clearly trusted him.

It was hard to go back from how close you got to someone after you'd slept with them. It was even harder when it'd been a lot more than just once.

He was too familiar with - well, everything. What could make Gavin blush, or squirm. The other man's scars, his secrets. And he'd trusted, Gavin, too - enough to tell him the stories behind the battles and brawls that'd left his own body marked.

Michael didn't catch feelings easily. And he enjoyed his job, but the only thing that'd given it much meaning was his partnership with Meg. But now... it scared him sometimes how deeply he'd fallen into all this. He would kill for Gavin. Hell, he'd already killed for him. He'd risk his life for the other man, he'd fuck up anyone who so much as looked at him wrong.

And it was intense - to care so much about someone like that.

He swallowed, hard, feeling suddenly very out of his depth. He hadn't paid enough attention, hadn't realised just how quickly he'd fallen.

"Look," he said quietly, "Gav..."

Gavin's green eyes opened, staring into his in that intense way that always made Michael's mind go blank for a moment.

"What?" he replied.

"You and me and... and what we've been doing..." Michael started to pull his hand back, but Gavin stepped forward, into his space a little. "I- I told Meg that once we got here, she and I would... discuss things. Discuss what we wanted to do. And she seemed open to it - to _us."_

It took a second for Gavin to register what he meant When he did, a cocktail of feelings flashed across his face, so quickly that Michael couldn't quite catch them. But then his eyes softened, and he gave an understanding nod.

"Of course, Michael. We always knew this was temporary, right? That when we got North you and Meg would talk about things and you guys could... could try things out. The last thing you need is a third party getting things complicated. Do what you have to."

"You're not..." Michael trailed off, a bit awkwardly, and felt even sillier when Gavin raised an eyebrow.

"Not what? Remember what we said? That this was all just - practice."

"Practice," Michael repeated. This was going... a lot more smoothly than he expected, and he really didn't know what to think about it. Or why his stomach felt tight suddenly, like he'd swallowed stones. "But I..."

He trailed off, uncertain. What could he say? That he thought it might be more than that to him? He had no idea if it meant anything more to Gavin. But after a moment Gavin reached out and ran a hand over his cheek.

"Thank you, Michael," he murmured. "It was a lot of fun. And a good distraction on the road. I think I needed it. And I... I care about you a great deal. But you and Meg need to sort things out between you, first. See where her head's at."

"And where's yours at?" Michael asked, and Gavin's smile flickered for a moment, a vulnerable look flashing in his eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe I'll have a clearer idea after Ramsey."

"Okay," Michael whispered, and swallowed hard. He felt oddly emotional suddenly. "Didn't think that last time was... well, the last one."

"Awww, Michael," Gavin cooed, and leaned up and kissed him, quickly - a light, familiar brush of lips now. For a second Michael was struck with the urge to grab him, pull him closer, make it last. But he didn't, and when Gavin pulled back he felt cold in a way he couldn't explain. "One for the road. Don't be sad, Michael. It was a happy, good thing. That part of the journey is over, but who knows what's next!"

Michael managed a smile. He really was like a human ray of sunshine, and he reached out to ruffle Gavin's hair before leading him back to the others.

Meg and Lindsay were sitting at a table by the window, bathed in the winter sunlight streaming through the glass, steaming cups of tea in front of them. Their heads were bent close, murmuring to one another. They fell silent and looked up as the boys approached.

"Talking about us?" Michael asked, and Meg rolled her eyes.

"Don't flatter yourself. We were gossiping about everyone we can see out the window. People in this part of town are..."

She trailed off at the look on Michael's face, and he fought back a grimace. Honestly, it wasn't like they hadn't spent a long time bitching about the upper classes in any city they came across. He'd detached himself from that part of his identity; he didn't consider himself a nobleman any more, in any sense of the word. And while the two of them were successful enough bounty hunters that they got by fairly comfortably, they spent so much time on the road that it certainly wasn't the sort of cushy lifestyle that Michael had grown up in.

Still. Given what he was about to propose, it was a bit awkward, and he quickly put all the bread in the middle of the table.

"Oh my gods, a cat!" Lindsay cried, reaching for it instantly.

"There's a bear, too! And look at this one shaped like the sun!" Gavin enthusiastically waved around the Sol pastry, which had a gleaming golden apricot in the centre, and Michael rolled his eyes, but  couldn't help the funny little pang he felt at the sight of the other man's bright smile, at his long eyelashes, at the way his tongue darted out to catch a few crumbs on his bottom lip.

_Stop that._

_It's over now. It was fun while it lasted but for God’s sake sort your shit out. Don't get silly about this._

Lindsay was smiling at Gavin, too, and she and Michael made rather awkward eye contact before they both looked away, flustered and unsure why. It didn't help that as Michael sat down opposite her he managed to kick her feet under the table by accident about five times.

"Okay, so the plan," he said, and took a deep breath. "Look, I'm not saying it's a good one but-"

"Just spit it out," Meg cut in, through a generous mouthful of dough, "Quit the self-flagellation. If it's shit I'll tell you."

"I'll tell you as soon as Gavin stops making that noise," Michael said, for the other man was enjoying his apricot bread so much that he'd closed his eyes and was making a very distracting moaning sound. It was taking Michael places he steadfastly did not want to visit now, and was in fact not quite sure he was _allowed_ to even visit any more. He elbowed Gavin and the other man jumped and looked over at him innocently.

"As I was saying," Michael said, "Clearly we're not gonna get an audience looking like ourselves or even being honest about where we've come from. Right now Ramsey's got his war council in full session planning what to do about Taurin. You notice how busy the road was when we were coming in here? It's not like that all the time. There's a lot of people visiting Achievement City right now because every other kingdom is sending ambassadors and representatives to pledge their allegiance and draw up pacts and treaties for the inevitable war. Lots of visitors to the palace. That's our way in."

"You want us to infiltrate," Meg said, eyes wide.

"I don't think we have much other choice," Michael admitted. "I know it's a long shot, but Taurin gave us ten thousand gold crowns. That's more than enough to dress ourselves up."

"But how are we gonna pull it off without seals or documents?" Meg asked.

"That's where I come in." He swallowed, hard, and turned to the other two. "I've told you both before, my father was a high-ranking nobleman back in Winchester, until he disgraced our family's entire name. Still - I can talk the talk and walk the walk, and I know enough to name-drop our way into the castle. If you let me take the lead, I think we can do this."

There was a long silence. They all stared at him, thoughtfully - and chewing furiously. Finally Meg nodded, and reached across the table to pat his hand.

"It's not a shit plan," she declared, and Michael let out a huff of breath.

"Thanks?"

"You're not just some brute barbarian, Michael. I trust you know what you're doing here. If the rest of us just have to stand around and look pretty, well, I think we've got that covered."

Michael grinned, relieved that he didn't have to talk them into this. And then nervous, because it was honestly a pretty fucking massive stretch of an idea and now they were gonna have to actually _do_ it, which was a whole new level of shit-your-pants nerve-wracking. Like, this wasn't breaking into some nobleman's household, or even a lord or duke's chambers. This was the fucking king of one of the biggest kingdoms in the entire land. This was the gods damn palace they were talking about. This was a country gearing up to get on war footing, probably filled with security and expecting infiltration from Taurin's spies and servants. And they were two mercenaries, a paladin and an acolyte of Sol, only one of whom was actually noble-born, and another who'd spent his entire life on an island.

They were probably fucked.

But time wasn't on their side at all here, and they really didn't have much of a choice. He turned to Lindsay and Gavin.

"You two okay with this?"

"Hell yeah!" Lindsay exclaimed, with a grin. "In fact I'm pretty damn excited to act! Gavin and I used to love writing our own plays when we were small. We'd stage these amazing dramas for the priests back on the Isle."

"You say 'amazing dramas' but we were eight years old and all our props and costumes were made of palm fronds and coconut shells," Gavin said, shaking his head with a sigh.

"But we had _passion!"_ Lindsay cried, "Those were works of art."

Gavin smiled, but there was the same sadness behind his eyes that he always got when he talked about the Isle. After a second Lindsay's grin faded, too. Michael swallowed the lump in his throat; he knew what they were thinking, and couldn't imagine the grief that must've accompanied having all those childhood memories wiped away by tragedy and pain.

He reached out, wanting to take Gavin's hand, to comfort him - but stopped himself at the last minute and bit his lip.

It seemed too intimate, suddenly, and he was scared of what it might mean. Instead he just nudged his elbow against Gavin's on top of the table. Even in that brief contact he could feel how warm Gavin was, the Flame blazing as hot as it always did. The other man gave him a small smile.

"The plan's fine," Meg repeated, "But once we get in there, do you really think Ramsey will listen to us? What that woman said..."

Michael bit his lip.

"I... I hope so. From all the stories I've heard, he does care about his people, does listen to their concerns. Then again, stories aren't everything. Gods know what kings are really like behind closed doors. We just have to trust that the priests knew what they were talking about when they sent Gavin here."

"I trust them," Gavin added, fiercely, and Lindsay nodded, eyes blazing.

"Okay," Meg said, resigned, "Then I guess we have a plan. What's step one?"

"Clothes," Michael said, "For all of us, and I have a few other things to pick up as well. We're gonna need to write up some backstories, get our stories straight, and do some scouting to figure out the best way into the palace."

"Excellent!" Meg clapped her hands together, eyes shining excitedly, and despite himself her enthusiasm made Michael's heart start to race with adrenaline, too. "Let's go shopping!"

 

* * *

 

Michael stood and stared into the mirror, absently running his hands over his smooth-shaven chin. He picked up a comb, then some scissors, but hesitated at the last minute.

He already looked like a stranger in the mirror, dressed in finer clothes than he had worn in years. It felt odd to be without armour, without his rugged cloak, without about five different knives hidden on various parts of his body. Instead the silk shirt, tight pants and expensive jacket seemed stifling, restricting his movement, sparkling with glittery buttons and sewn-in gemstones. They seemed too bright, too gaudy, even if he knew objectively that the saffron fabric with its gold thread was beautiful.

The question he'd been trying to answer for years drifted through his mind - _who are you?_ \- with Meg, he thought he'd found it. Then Gavin came along and turned everything on its head. Now, standing further north than he'd ever been, dressed like the young man his father had probably expected him to grow up to be... he found he had no idea.

There was a knock at the door, and he jumped a little before turning.

"Michael?" Lindsay called out. "I'm coming in so if you're naked you're gonna have to quickly grab, I don't know, a big leaf or something."

"Where the fuck would I get a big leaf indoors?" Michael laughed, but moved to pull open the door. "I'm not naked-"

He broke off at the sight of her, taking a step back, eyes going wide.

He'd seen Lindsay dressed up at the town dance, but that was on a whole other level. Otherwise she'd mostly been dressed in armour or plain wear that barely showed her figure, her hair always pulled back in a braid. And she was pretty just like that, always had been, but now - now the emerald gown she wore brought out the green in her eyes, seemed to cascade down her form in all the right places, with elegant wide sleeves and a pattern of embroidered black roses. The colour made her hair look even brighter; she'd curled it, and it fell around her face in soft waves.

She looked breathtaking in a way that stopped Michael in his tracks like few things could. She must've noticed the look on his face, because her cheeks turned red.

"Meg did my hair and make up," she said. "Is it fine? I never really-"

"You look incredible," he blurted out, and her face went even redder.

"Um. Thank you."

"I'm serious." Maybe there was something a little too intense in it, because Lindsay looked away, and he bit his lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you-"

"No, it's fine." She swished her skirt around a little. "This is... really, really different to what I'm used to, so I wasn't sure... but thank you. Yay! I'm glad it looks good."

She was brushing off the compliment, but Michael could see in her eyes she was pleased. He led her into the room and picked up the comb again.

"I'm about five seconds away from cutting off all my hair because I can't get it to stay flat, but I'm worried I'll fuck it up and then I'll have to wear a hat all night," he admitted.

"Oh, Michael, no!" she gasped. “Your glorious curls!”  
  
“They’re actually super fucking annoying when they get this long.”  
  
“But they’re your _defining feature_!” she cried, hands clasped to her cheeks.

“No nobleman has hair like this,” he argued. “Besides, it’ll grow back. What’s it to you?”  
  
"They just... suit you," she said, reluctantly, but when Michael waved the scissors expectantly she sighed and walked over to take them. He turned back to the mirror and Lindsay moved up behind him, grabbing a blanket to drape around his shoulders before she reached up and tilted his head back slightly. Michael bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hold still as she ran her hands through his hair and then hesitantly began to cut. Their eyes met in the mirror and it made his stomach thrum nervously.

There was something too intimate about this. He was too aware of her body against his back, of how cold her hands were every time they brushed against his scalp or the back of his neck.

He didn't know what to say, but Lindsay looked like she was concentrating intensely anyway, her eyes narrowed and tongue sticking out a little as she worked. He closed his eyes and decided not to bother her. He could feel soft curls falling onto his shoulders; after a moment, her hand moved to brush them away onto the floor. It paused on the back of his shoulder blade and he opened his eyes.

"You're really tense," Lindsay said, quietly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Michael grunted - then, at her expectant silence, "This is just... not a world I ever wanted to return to."

"Is it really so bad?" she asked, and began cutting again. Michael took his time formulating an answer; it was hard to put into words, this complicated mix of feelings, the mess that was his identity.

"I was never close to my father," he managed, finally. "He was... not an exceptionally affectionate man. He didn't love his sons so much as he valued the opportunities we could bring him. The things I loved - reading, stories, myths and heroes - it was just childish foolishness to him. But still, I... I wanted his approval. I was desperate to be great in some way, to live up to the reputation he'd built for our family as an important part of the king's court. So when that was all torn away, when I realised he was just like all the villains in the stories, that he wasn't protecting our kingdom but serving its enemies... gods, I just snapped. I wanted to lash out at him, to get as far from that disgusting world as possible. I didn't want to be rich, I wanted to tear away everything those noblemen owned. I wanted to kill everyone who was like him. I wanted to become a criminal, a vagabond, anything that I knew would disgust him."

"What he did wasn't your fault," Lindsay said softly.

"I know," Michael said, "But it still hurt. And that kid I used to be - that spoiled, rich kid who lived a cushy life off his father's blood money? I'm embarrassed that I was stupid enough to fall for his lies. I'm ashamed at the type of shit my family was involved in. Even if I was just a kid, I... I don't want to associate myself with it. But I guess we have no choice, now."

Lindsay was silent for a moment, and Michael was glad to concentrate on the quiet clicks of the scissors and the soothing motion of her hands brushing through his hair. When she finally spoke her voice was filled with a quiet certainty.

“You’re not going back to it. You’re just pretending to, using it for your own benefit. The gods have a plan for all of us; I believe it’s no accident that you of all people ended up being sent after us. You, who now has exactly what we need to get us to Ramsey. So I’m certainly not complaining. I think it’s the work of Sol. I know you don’t believe, but… I’m glad you’re exactly who you are. And not just because it benefits us, but because it made you who you are today. The guy who was honourable enough to risk his life for us. Who could become our friend.”  
  
Michael had to smile at that. Whether Sol was guiding his destiny or not, the calm certainty in her voice was still reassuring.

“Thanks, Lindsay,” he said, and she leaned forward to brush the rest of the stray hairs off him before whisking the blanket away.

“All done,” she said, and he looked up into the mirror, blinking a few times.

He hadn’t cut his hair in a while, and it felt strange to have his head feel so light and cool. She hadn’t trimmed it too severely, but most of the long curls were gone and it somehow made his eyes look bigger, seemed to change the entire shape of his face. He looked less reckless, more solemn.

The look on Lindsay’s face was fucking hysterical, and he turned around and laughed.

“What’s that look for? _You_ did this to me!”

“You just look so different!” she wailed. “No, it’s good, you look good! You look more mature.”  
  
“What’s that mean? I didn’t look mature before?” He leaned in and squinted at the mirror, running his hands through his hair a few times, then gave a satisfied nod. “No, that’ll do. Thanks, Lindsay. For that and… for understanding.”  
  
“It’s all good,” she said, and as he turned to leave she stepped forward to put the scissors back. They nearly bumped into each other and for a second their faces veered close to each other, their eyes met. Michael swallowed hard; he saw something flash in her eyes before she turned away with a mumbled apology.

“You’re good,” Michael said, and kicked himself as he went to open the door.

_First Gavin. Now Lindsay. Quit messing around. You need to sort things out with Meg before you make things even more complicated_.

Meg and Gavin were waiting for them by the doors of the inn. When they turned and saw him both of them shrieked in surprise and Michael felt his face grow hot.

“Oh my _gods_ , Michael!” Gavin cried, and ran up to him, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “What have you _done_?”  
  
“Thanks, Gav. Making me feel real confident here.”  
  
“I don’t _not_ like it,” Gavin assured him. “It’s just - different.” He tilted his head, staring Michael up and down. “It’s growing on me. It’s definitely growing on me. But will your head not get cold?”  
  
“That’s what hats are for, genius,” Michael said, but felt suddenly very self conscious. He took a step back and looked at Gavin. “Hey, you clean up alright, Sunbeam.”  
  
Gavin’s cheeks turned red. He did look good - his hair was combed back for once, and he’d shaved this morning. When they went shopping earlier he’d been drawn to every article of yellow clothing they could find; now he was in a magnificent, daffodil coloured tunic with silver stitching, a shimmering gold cape and a pair of golden boots. On anyone else, it would’ve looked ridiculously extravagant, but somehow Gavin of all people managed to pull it off. He really did look like the physical manifestation of a ray of sunlight; the bright colours made his tanned skin look almost golden and brought out the little lighter flecks in his hazel eyes. 

“When I saw all the yellow I thought you’d just look like a piece of cheese,” Michael began.

“Oi!”  
  
“-but it suits you,” he finished, and Gavin smiled bashfully. Michael turned his attention to Meg, who was lingering a little way back and eyeing him suspiciously. She looked breathtaking as always in her own dark purple gown, and Michael swallowed hard.

As confusing as things were getting, the one thing he was certain of was _her_. He stepped forward and saw Meg smile a little.

“You look amazing,” he said, sincerely - he knew it was something she heard a lot, but it still made her grin.

“Thanks. I like the haircut.” She reached up and her hand brushed across his temple; he struggled to keep a straight face. “Seriously, it suits you. You look sharp.”  
  
“Appreciate it. Well,” he said, turning as Lindsay came up to join them, “We make a pretty fine group. Before we leave I just want to say one thing to all of you.”  
  
“We love you too and good luck to everyone!” Lindsay cried.

“Keep your fucking mouths shut and let me do all the talking,” Michael replied, but laughed. “And that too. But seriously - don’t say anything. We look good but the second you lot open your mouths and say something crazy, we’re done for. Meg, you are the only one with permission to make conversation with people.”  
  
She laughed and saluted, and Michael pulled open the doors, ushering the others out. Gavin and Lindsay trooped out first, chattering to one another about their new clothes. Meg paused in the doorway by Michael’s side.

“They look good,” she said, abruptly, “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, and they exchanged a pointed glance. He could see the fear in her eyes, the desire, too. After a moment she reached out and ran her hand down his arm, a brief, quick motion.

“However things work out tonight,” she said, “Whether they - whether they work or they don’t… once we have a chance, we need to talk.”  
  
“Of course,” he whispered, and she took his hand and squeezed for a moment.

“Don’t look so scared,” she said. “It’s not a bad thing. Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, and tangled their fingers together as they walked out.

 

* * *

 

Later Michael would be surprised at how far they actually managed to get, given how half-baked their plan actually was.

The closer to the palace they got, the more he began to feel sick and anxious until he wished he’d stopped to have a drink before leaving. This would’ve been a lot easier with some liquid courage in him. 

It was evening by now, and the temperature had dropped. It was beginning to snow slightly and their fine clothes weren’t nearly as warm as their travelling gear had been. They met up with another travelling delegation on the road into the palace, a group from Ford which included a duke, a general and a number of advisors. Michael introduced himself as Lord Jones from Winchester, the brother of General Gregor Jones, here to negotiate on behalf of the king. The others were his advisors in magic and military strategy.

The group had no reason not to swallow the story, especially when Michael started name dropping various high-born members of the court his family used to be familiar with, as well as celebrity bards, famous warriors and even a few members of the royal family. He was selling it, the others just nodding and laughing at the right moments, and they made small-talk all the way to the palace gates without too much trouble.

_This is just a game of pretend._

_Just like when you were small you pretended to be Mogar the Brave, or the fairy king, or any number of heroes and villains. Lindsay’s right, this is meant to be._

Still - he felt sick at the frivolity, and kind of distressed at just how fucking easy it was to fall back into the old patterns of speech, the gossip and drama of the court, the endless bragging and one-upping about one’s accomplishments and connections.

At the gates things got a bit dicey.

"Jones, huh?” the guard said. “Why aren’t you on the guest list?”  
  
“We should be,” Michael replied haughtily, ignoring the others’ alarmed exchange of glances behind him. “We were slowed a little by bad weather but we were due to arrive this week. Check again! There must be a mistake.”  
  
“You’ve got a small party, there. Where are your servants and guards?”  
  
“We don’t need guards. Our servants are all trained to defend us. We had an issue with our luggage being lost after it was sent ahead - so our men have gone to deal with it. Do hurry up,” he added, glancing at the Ford delegation who had just been let through, “We were in the middle of a conversation before you stopped us!”

“Do you have your invitation?”

“It’s in our luggage. Which I just told you we _lost_.”  
  
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you-”  
  
“Do you know who I am?” Michael demanded, stepping up into the other man’s face. “I’m here on behalf of King Alucard of Winchester! We have one of the mightiest armies in the continent and are one of the biggest suppliers of steel and iron. Our participation in these negotiations is critical.”

“My apologies, sir.” The guard looked terribly flustered. “You’re not on the list for some reason, but we can arrange some rooms for you. Please come through for now.”  
  
Michael stalked through without another word. His heart was pounding and he wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers. Lindsay leaned in towards him.

“That was so rude,” she whispered.

“I’m doing what I have to to get us in,” Michael hissed back. “Whatever you do don’t let Gavin go and apologise to that guy. He’ll blow our cover.”  
  
“Meg’s got him,” Lindsay said, and Michael glanced over his shoulder to see her dragging Gavin away before he could apologise profusely to the guard, who was already turning away to deal with the next person in line.

Having made it into the outer courtyard, they were surrounded by a flurry of movement and activities. Servants hurried back and forth, carrying bags, noblemen and women milled around in conversation, and the palace staff were trying to direct people here, there and everywhere. Michael ushered the others close and they made their way through the courtyard towards the doors that led to the grand hall.

Inside the palace was even more magnificent, even grander and richer than any of the mansions and villas that Michael had spent time in growing up. The redstone lights were the most impressive part of it; they gave everything a steady, ruby glow that somehow seemed more regal than any firelight.

“What’s the plan now?” Meg whispered, moving up by his side.

“The king is meant to come and address everyone and there’ll be a dinner before the court session tomorrow. With luck we’ll find an opening to talk to him there. If we can’t for some reason, we’ll have to seek an audience with him tomorrow under the guise of private negotiations. Let’s scope out the place, first.”

“They’ll be suspicious when our luggage never shows up,” Lindsay pointed out.

“Let’s hope we can distract them somehow,” Michael muttered.

They wandered up into the hall, where they were promptly distracted by the sheer grandeur of the place. With none of the meetings having started yet, everyone was just sort of milling around. Tables were set up for that evening’s banquet, piled high with all manner of extravagant goodies, and the walls were covered in massive paintings of the Ramsey royal line in gilded frames. They were wandering along the side of the hall, taking them in and trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might want to talk to them, when Gavin tugged on Michael’s sleeve.

“Michael,” he whispered.

“What?” Michael asked, turning to him. Gavin’s grip tightened on his arm; his brows were furrowed, and Michael frowned. “You okay?”  
  
“I don’t feel good,” Gavin said, faintly. “I think another one of those headaches is coming on.”  
  
“Shit,” Michael hissed - he pulled Gavin in closer, Meg and Lindsay huddling around them. “How bad is it?”  
  
“Worse than usual.” Gavin screwed his eyes shut with a soft whimper. “It’s coming on fast.”

He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and Michael wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. He exchanged frantic looks with the girls.

“This is the worst fucking time possible,” he said. “Meg, can you do something?”  
  
“I can’t heal him! Last time I just knocked him out until it passed!”

Gavin was swaying at this point and Michael tried to lean him back against the wall. He was making all sorts of awful noises, little pained whimpers and whines. One hand was clutched to his face, clamped over his eyes - but the other was clawing at his _chest_ , and Michael bit his lip hard in alarm. 

They were starting to draw attention; a few of the nearest guests were hurrying over to them.

“Is he okay?” one woman asked in concern. “Do you need help?”  
  
“Sir,” a staff member cried, hurrying up, “What’s going on?”  
  
“He’s fine!” Michael held a hand out to keep them back. “He’s just sick!”  
  
“Can we help you to your rooms?” 

“Yes. We’re just waiting to find out where we are but it would be good if he could lie down. We’re not on the guest register, there was a mistake, if you could sort it out that would be great,” Michael began, when there was another tug on his arm.

“Michael,” Lindsay said, “I think he’s-”  
  
She broke off in horror. Michael turned and his breath caught in his throat; there was a wave of gasps from behind him.

Gavin’s eyes were shining with the same intense, white glow they’d had back in the forest after he used the Flame. They were so bright that the light was seeping out between his fingertips, a nearly blinding brightness. 

“Shit,” Michael said - a sudden instinct took over him. “Get back-”

He flung himself forward, seizing Meg, Lindsay and the palace staff member and knocking them back against the wall just as Gavin - with a pained shout - suddenly lurched forward. A burst of white light shot from him and swept across the room. People dived for cover, screaming - the blast didn’t break anything, but it made the entire room tremble; the plates and cups on the table rattled, and the large painting on the opposite wall shook in its frame and then fell to the floor.

Gavin fell to his knees, hands clapped over his face again. There was a moment of shocked silence.

Then the screaming began, a desperate scramble for the exits.

“Magic!” someone yelled.

“We’re under attack!”  
  
“Sorcery!”  
  
“Shit,” Michael hissed, scrambling to his feet. “What the fuck is going on? Meg?”  
  
“I don’t know!” She rushed to Gavin’s side, pressed her fingers to his temples, then drew back with a hiss. “He’s losing control of it. He’s been carrying the magic for too long!”  
  
“Stop right there!” someone yelled, and Michael turned to see a troop of guards rushing towards them, brandishing swords. He cursed as he recognised one of them as the man who’d been guarding the city hall earlier, and saw the same recognition flash across his face.  
  
“They’re not guests!” the man yelled, “They shouldn’t be here! Arrest them!”  
  
“Fuck me _fucking_ sideways,” Michael hissed, “ _Run!_ ”

They weren’t dressed to fight and they were badly outnumbered. Without thinking about it, he grabbed Gavin’s arm and hauled him upright, dragging him behind him. Lindsay came up on Gavin’s other side and seized his other arm; between them they hauled him along.

Meg paused and when Michael glanced over his shoulder he saw her sweep an arm across the room. A wall of fire between them and the guards stopped them in their tracks, and she ran after them.

More screams. The clanging of a bell somewhere in the palace. He was running on sheer adrenaline as they rushed deeper into the hall, through a doorway, and then down a plush, carpeted hallway. He had no idea where the fuck he was going, just that they needed to find _something_. An exit, or a room they could barricade themselves in, or _someone_ who would either listen to them or who they could, you know, take conveniently hostage-

Footsteps, accompanied by the clanking noise of armour, rang out in the hallway ahead of them.

“Shit,” Michael hissed, skidding to a stop.

“Michael,” Meg said, turning - there were guards coming up behind them as well. She raised her hands, flaring with fire, but Michael shook his head furiously.

“These are Ramsey’s men! Don’t hurt them!”  
  
“We surrender!” Lindsay yelled, and waved a handkerchief she’d produced from somewhere - only to break off as Gavin groaned again and another pulse of light shot from his body and knocked out the entire troop of guards in front of them. They crumpled to the ground in a clatter of armour, and there was a horrified silence.

“Stand down now!” the leader of the other guards cried, his voice shaking. His men drew bows and the next thing Michael knew there were a dozen arrows nocked in their direction.

“Wait!” he cried, raising his hands. “He can’t control it. They’re not dead, just unconscious! Meg, take him out.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“ _Gavin_ , obviously!”  
  
“What, _now_?”  
  
“Yes,” he hissed, “Just do it! He can’t control the Flame. He’s a bigger danger awake right now than he would be knocked out.”  
  
Gavin was curled in a ball by this point, arms wrapped around his head, gasping pitifully. When Meg reached out and touched his head and he slumped down unconscious and silent, it was a relief for all of them.

Michael stood, shoulders heaving, mind racing. He was staring the captain in the face and he could see the confusion and wariness in the man’s eyes. The fear at what sort of unknown threat this was. This had all gone to shit so fucking fast that honestly he had no idea what his plan was. Their cover was blown, they were probably all about to get thrown in the dungeons, and gods knew what was going on with Gavin.

Before anyone could react, there was another commotion from behind the guards.

“My lord! My lord, you can’t be here!” someone was yelling frantically.

“What the fuck is going on around here?” a man’s voice demanded, and then the next thing Michael knew someone was shoving their way through the crowd of soldiers.

The captain turned. His face paled and he bowed his head.

“Your majesty, stay back! These are dangerous intruders.”  
  
Hope, desperation, relief, _fear_ , shot through Michael like arrows to the heart, so quickly he didn’t know which one to latch onto. He heard Meg suck in her breath beside him; Lindsay was already on the ground, clutching Gavin close to her. He did the only thing he could think of.

He dropped to his knees, grabbing Meg’s arm and yanking her down with him, and bowed so low his head touched the floor. He hadn’t even dared look the man in the face yet.

“King Ramsey,” he called out. For the first time that night, his voice was shaking. “We’re not here to cause trouble. Please - we beg your help.”


	14. Chapter 14

Gavin came to slowly and groggily.

The first thing he realised was that he didn't have a headache, the way he sometimes did after the worst of these attacks. Instead, his eyes hurt - they felt sore and dry, like he'd been staring at something bright for far too long. He reached up to rub them and groaned - it was hard to move, and it took him a moment to realise that his stiff, restrictive new clothes were the problem.

_Wait, what the hell happened?_

He was lying in a bed, but it clearly wasn't the inn. Bright, morning sunlight was streaming through a nearby window, and the ceiling above him was beautiful. That sounded odd because for the most part the ceilings he encountered were just sort of... well, ordinary and usually very dusty, but no - this ceiling was painted a brilliant, pristine white with ornate gold overlay tracing patterns of flowers - roses, carnations, lilies and, to his great delight, sunflowers.

"Hey! You're awake!"

The voice made him jump. He rolled over - grimacing and squinting as the sunlight hit his eyes - and took a moment to register that he was lying on probably the nicest mattress he'd ever encountered, seriously, it felt like floating on a cloud - and found a strange man sitting at his bedside.

Naturally, Gavin yelled in alarm.

"Who the hell are you?!"

"Hey, easy, easy, kid. Calm down." The guy stood up from his chair and then sat on the end of the bed, which was honestly even more creepy. Gavin sat up, glaring at him suspiciously, backing up until he was pressed right up against the headboard. "You're at my place. You collapsed."

Gavin stared at him. The guy wasn't that old, perhaps in his late thirties, and was clearly a nobleman - dressed in fantastic green robes. He had a gold ring on every single finger and Gavin vaguely wondered if that made it pretty hard to write and hold things. His eyes were a brilliant blue - sleepy, but kind - and he had probably the best moustache Gavin had ever seen.

He was also smiling, gently, in a way that really did seem nothing but completely generous, so after a moment Gavin smiled back.

"I had another headache, didn't I?" he said ruefully, and the man laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, bud. Never seen a headache that dramatic."

"Oh, gods, what happened?"

"You knocked out a lot of people with some big blast of white light?"

"Oh. Shit." Gavin buried his face in his hands. He didn't remember that at all. Honestly, everything after arriving at the dining hall was just sort of fuzzy-

_The dining hall._

_The palace dining hall._

_We were inside the palace, we were undercover, who the fuck did I knock out - shit, shit!_

Panicked, he looked frantically at the man, who saw his wide eyes and laughed again. A warm, calloused hand reached out and jostled Gavin's shoulder playfully.

"Yep, you're still here. In King Ramsey's palace. Guest quarters. The healers had a look over you, couldn't figure out how the fuck you're carrying around that sort of magic, but physically, you're fine."

Gavin stared at him. Everything still felt a little fuzzy and disconnected. He could see all the pieces, but couldn't fit them together. 

"And who are you?" he asked, and the man tilted his head and gave a crooked grin.

"Well, I said it was my place, didn't I?" he replied.

It took a second. When it clicked, Gavin gasped and tried to scramble out of the bed. He'd never met a king before, but he was pretty sure you were meant to bow. Or maybe kneel? Or maybe, like, kneel and then bow down until you were lying on the floor - or was that only at the temple? Either way, Geoff caught his arm before he could get too far, pushing him back against the pillows.

"Hey, hey, you shouldn't get up just yet!"

"Your highness- I mean, your majesty - uh, your eminence-"

"Geoff's fine!" Geoff said, and Gavin shook his head. He could feel his face turning bright red.

"I can't possibly call you Geoff!"

"Well, maybe not in front of my advisors," Geoff said, and proceeded to _wink._ Gavin really had no clue what the fuck was going on. He sat there, sort of dazed, as Geoff fussed around straightening the pillows and pulling the blankets up around him - not that Gavin really needed them. It was already very warm in here, and he could still feel the Flame in his chest. The blazing heat had settled down to a dull sort of warmth. He thought of what Geoff had said - a big blast of white light - that had never happened before, during his headaches, and he bit his lip.

_Something's wrong here._

Even now he could feel it. It wasn't that the Flame was stronger, but - something felt different about being here, in a way he couldn't describe. Nothing had seemed odd until he stepped foot in the palace.

He looked at Geoff, met his eyes just for a second, then dropped his gaze again, shyly. His heart was pounding and he grabbed fistfuls of the blankets to keep his hands from shaking.

The other man certainly didn't look anything like he'd expected a king to. Granted, all of his knowledge had come from books, but weren't kings meant to wear crowns?

"You alright?" Geoff asked, and Gavin nodded.

"I like your ceiling," he blurted out, and then kicked himself. Stupid! But he couldn't stop. "It's very fancy."

Geoff roared with laughter, and jostled his shoulder.

"You're hilarious. It's Gavin, right? Feeling up to seeing your friends?"

Gavin nodded meekly. A tension dropped from his shoulders. He was still deeply confused about what exactly had gone down for the last eight hours - where the others were, why Geoff was the one in here with him, how much he knew - but at least the others were okay. At least they'd be here in a minute. They'd fix things up - they always did, somehow.

Geoff went to the door and Gavin heard him speak to someone outside. He watched worriedly from the bed, but when Geoff glanced back over his shoulder, he gave a reassuring smile.

"You hungry?" he asked, and Gavin nodded as he realised he hadn't eaten since the bakery yesterday. Geoff turned back and said something else, then returned to his seat by the bed, where he stared so intensely at Gavin that he proceeded to feel self-conscious about every single part of himself, not least his hair, which he knew had a tendency to stand enthusiastically upright whenever he slept on a pillow.

"...you've come a long way, Gavin," Geoff said finally, a tone in his words that Gavin couldn't pinpoint.

"Yes," Gavin agreed, "We've travelled across the entire land to get here."

"All the way from the Isle of Sol," Geoff continued, and Gavin perked up.

"Yes! They told you everything? The priests sent me here, you must know them, right?"

Geoff shook his head slowly.

"To be frank with you, Gavin, I've never worshipped Sol, I've never met the High Priest in my life, and I've barely interacted with the priesthood except occasionally in my official duties overseeing the kingdom."

Gavin gaped at him. That was - pretty much the opposite of everything he'd expected (although, to be honest, his theories had mostly involved the High Priest and Geoff being secret penpals for the last decade). But before he could ask anything else, the door slammed open and Michael, Meg and Lindsay burst in.

"Gavin!" Lindsay cried, and promptly launched herself across the room onto the bed. The next thing Gavin knew, her arms were around him, squeezing him tightly. "You're okay!"

"I'm fine!" he squeaked, as the breath was crushed out of him, and hugged her back. The mere sight of the others had him nearly faint with relief. Alone and confused here, he was now immediately reassured that whatever happened, they'd find some way to sort it out together - and in the entirely unfamiliar landscape of the palace, it was nice to see some friendly faces.

Lindsay buried her head in his shoulder, and Gavin closed his eyes, trying to stop his shiver.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" he whispered.

"You were asleep for, like, twelve hours," she hissed. "It's the next day! You were shooting beams of light out of your eyes! I'm not being funny, Gav, when I say I had the quite valid concern that at any moment your head might blow up!"

He couldn't help laughing, a bit hysterically, and she drew back and slapped his arm.

"I said I wasn't being funny!"

"Sorry, sorry."

He turned to look at the others, who had reached his bedside - and, he noticed, were keeping a cautious distance from Geoff and not quite meeting his gaze. They were all still dressed in their fine robes, though rumpled and creased as though they'd slept in him. Meg's gaze was soft and concerned, and Michael's brows were knit tight. They both reached out to touch him as though not quite sure he was real.

"You're okay," Meg whispered. "You gave us quite a scare."

"Sorry," Gavin said. Now that it was over, the entire situation was quite embarrassing. He still wasn't quite sure how things had played out to end with him here in this very fancy bed, but he was sure the others must've had to do a hell of a lot of explaining.

"Not your fault," she said, and gave him such a fond smile that he had to grin back. "Although I was relieved when I knocked you out."

"Thanks."

"Hey, it was my genius idea," Michael cut in, and reached out to jostle his knee. "After all the work I put into that plan, it just had to unravel as soon as we got in the doors. We didn't even get to try the free food!"

Gavin laughed, and Michael looked relieved. A shuffle of movement by the side of the bed made them all turn a bit awkwardly. Geoff was watching them, eyebrows raised and an amused look on his face. Another man had entered the room and come up by Geoff's side - tall, with a very impressive ginger beard and warm eyes. He smiled when Gavin met his eyes, but there was something a bit reserved in his face, and he murmured something in Geoff's ear. The king waved him off.

"It's fine, it's fine," Gavin heard him mutter back, but he suddenly felt very awkward - out of place in the palace, unsure where they all stood with one another. After all, this was the bloody king - sitting in a chair by his bedside while all of them sprawled around next to him! Should they be kneeling on the ground or something?

"Umm, what exactly happened while I was out?" he whispered. He addressed Michael, because he felt a bit awkward talking to Geoff now there was someone else in the room. "Are we good with him?"

"I don't know," Michael replied, cautiously.

"Uh, yeah we are!" Lindsay said, rather too loudly, "They gave us beds last night! And breakfast! And we're definitely not under arrest. In my book that all adds up to pretty good."

The ginger man raised his eyebrows - but Geoff just laughed again, and somehow, the sound put Gavin at ease. After all the stories they'd heard about his benevolence, he was definitely getting the impression Geoff really wasn't that scary.

"This is Jack," he said, "My chief advisor... and my fiancé. I would have introduced you all last night, but he was a little busy smoothing things over at the grand dinner while I handled the... situation."

"I'm so sorry," Gavin said again, but Geoff raised a hand.

"Don't worry about it. Your friends told me who you are, and why you've come here. I admit that at first I was quite startled. It's hardly an ordinary tale. But parts of it..." he trailed off, shooting Jack a questioning look. The other man's eyes were narrowed, a bit cautious. "They... lined up with certain fears that we had about the Warlord. And you were very cooperative, which helped your case. I put your friends up for the night while we waited for you to recover and in the meantime I had my people look into your story. A lot of it does add up - the Paladin academy, the bounty, the sacking of the Isle. I've called for some of my best court mages to examine the Flame, but they won't be here until a bit later on."

Gavin paused, taking this in. After a moment, a fist seemed to unclench in his chest, and he slumped in relief.

Geoff believed them.

They were here, and he believed them, and he was going to help. They'd gotten in. They were here. They were safe.

"We did it," he whispered, and turned to the others with tears in his eyes. Lindsay looked similarly emotional; she reached out and grabbed his hands, squeezing tightly. "We got here. We did it!"

"You sure did!" Geoff said, warmly, "And let me say, I am absolutely _enthralled_ by your bravery. I can't wait to hear the full story of your travels. We didn't have much time last night to get into things. But for now... please, Gavin, rest. From what I've heard, you've been through a lot. There's some food on the way and the healers are going to look you over. I've also contacted the Achievement City temple and sent word to the high priests in Solaire. As I said - I didn't know the priests of the Isle, but I do think I know why they sent you to me."

"And why is that?" Michael piped up. "You didn't tell us much last night - my Lord," he added, awkwardly.

"I said to call me Geoff."

"Geoff," Jack cut in, sternly, but Geoff reached out and squeezed his arm.

"Jack - look, if we're right, then they're gonna be spending a lot of time around us. You know how I like to do things."

"If you're right about what?" Meg pressed.

Geoff hesitated, then gave them another warm smile.

"We have an idea of what's going on - what the Flame is, and why Taurin wants it, and especially why the priests want you here with me. But we need to... double check things, first. Make sure our theory is correct. Don't worry - you'll be safe, and welcome, here either way. An enemy of Taurin's is a friend of mine. But look - I have a lot of meetings. We're still in the middle of our war council and there are a lot of guests at the palace, a lot of balls for me to juggle, y’know?"

"Right," Michael said, uncertainly.

"Rest for now!" Geoff was already headed for the door, grinning at them over his shoulder. "I'm serious, get your strength up and gather your thoughts. We'll figure things out tonight. Once I finish with the council, we'll take a trip to visit my brother. I think he'll have the answers we need."

"He has a brother?" Gavin heard Meg mutter. She looked genuinely shocked, and Gavin blinked a few times - he knew fuck all about royalty, as they didn't get much news on the Isle, but he knew that for the most part the royal lineages of every kingdom were well known.

Michael also looked pretty surprised, but Geoff had already left the room.

Jack had lingered, and he stepped towards them. Gavin shrank back - there was something a bit intimidating about how serious the other man looked, and while Geoff had put him at ease, he got the impression that his chief advisor was not quite so friendly.

"This is... a sensitive situation," he said, gaze sweeping over all of them. "There is a lot going on here, more than you know. But if we're right about the Flame, we suspect your... relation with Taurin might be key to the war ahead."

Gavin bit his lip.

_The war._

It made it all seem so big - so _real._ A war wasn't just between them and the Warlord. A war would drag in hundreds of thousands of people, would affect everyone on the continent. He'd known something was coming, but hadn't thought they'd be at the centre of it.

"Until we're certain, we can't tell you much," Jack said, and then pointed. "I do want to talk to you two."

Meg and Michael glanced at one another.

"Us?" Meg asked, and Jack nodded. His brows furrowed, sternly.

"Yes, you. Come on."

He nodded at the door, spun on his heel, and headed out. Gavin clutched at Meg's arm as she made to follow.

"Are you guys in trouble?" he whispered. "Did something happen?"

"I have no fucking idea," Michael said, but looked worried. "We were pretty honest with them. I didn't think we'd done anything to piss them off - beyond, you know, knocking over everything in the grand hall and an entire platoon of his soldiers, but that was an accident!"

"You guys didn't do that," Gavin whispered.

"It'll be fine." Meg squeezed his hand. "I... I don't say this lightly, but I actually think I trust King Ramsey. We'll be back in just a minute. Hang tight, alright?"

She looked over at Lindsay, who settled next to Gavin on the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hugging him close.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him," she said, and Gavin managed a weak smile - but still, he couldn't shake his worry as he watched the other two head out. They may have have reached Ramsey, may even be in the exact position they'd wanted, but there were still secrets, still answers withheld, and he couldn't rest easy until they'd finally uncovered them all.

 

* * *

 

Meg wasn't quite sure what Jack wanted with them as he led them through a series of winding corridors, past more guest chambers and parlours, and finally into a little sitting room. There wasn't anything particularly ominous about it - it was a sunny chamber with comfortable couches and a table set up with fixings for tea and cake on one side of the room - but the man hadn't stopped frowning, and frankly, she was nervous.

She was nervous about a lot of things.

Geoff might be smiling at them on the surface, and she didn't doubt he was a well-meaning king with good intentions - for his people, that was. But she and Michael were not his people. And despite the fact that he'd listened to their story, believed it, and seemed pretty keen to help Gavin... well, they still didn't know exactly what he wanted from them, or what the repercussions for breaking into his palace and knocking out his guards might be.

Beside her, Michael was tense, and she knew it wasn't just from their uncertain fate. He'd had a stick up his arse since the moment they dressed up in these noble clothes, and it hadn't disappeared, even overnight.

She felt the sudden urge to reach out and grab his hand, and actually started to move to do it - but then Jack was turning towards them, and she quickly dropped her hand back to her side. He raised his eyebrows.

"Please," he said, and gestured at one of the couches. "Sit down."

They both sat, Meg shifting to adjust her long skirts. She wished she was back in her travelling clothes. The silk dress was stifling and she felt very out of place. After they were put up in guest rooms last night, none of them had dared ask to leave the palace to collect their belongings - and they'd all been far too worried about Gavin to notice the discomfort.

Jack sat opposite them. He stared for a good few moments and Meg held his gaze, even as Michael shifted a bit uncomfortably.

"Meg Turney," Jack breathed, finally. "And Michael Jones."

"Yes," Michael said, a bit awkwardly, "That's us."

"You didn't give a false name when you snuck in here. You really are from Winchester." He opened a leather book he'd been carrying and tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the scribbled pages. "I have to say, as wild as your tale is, it all checks out. As Geoff said, we had people look into it... and our people are very quick at gathering information."

Meg kept her face a carefully blank mask, but her stomach twisted at the words. She didn't like the sound of where this was going. 

"Lindsay Tuggey has a stellar reputation at the Paladins' College in Solaire," Jack continued. "She will be well taken care of and we're already in contact with her tutors there to ensure she graduates and is given nothing but the utmost support in wherever she chooses to go, given that the Isle is no longer a functioning temple. And Gavin, clearly, is very new to the kingdoms. The Church of Sol is a very generous institution. It has a strong reputation and has devoted to itself to a number of charitable works in this kingdom and others. They are both very welcome here, and I understand that this entire time they have done nothing but their duty to their god, their kingdom and the people of this land. But then," he said, and leaned forward, eyes fixed on them, "We come to you two."

"What exactly are you saying?" Meg asked.

"You said you were hired swords who Taurin asked to collect them, but brought them here instead. But I think there's a much bigger story than that. We looked into you two and let's just say you have quite the reputation as bounty hunters and assassins. You're dangerous people," Jack said, "And I'm not quite sure I understand the whole story. So please - enlighten me."

"What do you want to know?" Michael snapped. His voice was shaking and Meg did reach out this time, and pressed his arm. The last thing they needed was for one of them to lose it and blow this whole thing. So far they were doing pretty well - Geoff clearly had no problem with them, and Lindsay and Gavin were safe. But this...

This was the delicate part.

Look, Meg would be the first to admit that they had a bit of a dicey history. Not only were they hired guns but they'd taken jobs pretty indiscriminately for years, and mages weren't trusted at the best of times. From the look on Jack's face, she figured he knew that.

"You're known to be ruthless. Dedicated to your jobs, reliable at all costs. Highly efficient, trained killers," Jack said.

"I'm flattered," she drawled, "What's the question?"

"Why would people like you turn on the Warlord, the most powerful man in the South?" he demanded. "Why would you believe a tale that is, quite frankly, ludicrous? Why would you agree to help an acolyte of Sol with a wild story travel across the entire continent, knowing that it would put a target on your back and with no guarantee that there'd be a reward at the end?"

Meg winced. To be honest, now that they were here in front of Ramsey she didn't dare ask for payment even now that it was clear he would help Gavin. That wasn't to say she didn't still want money, because fucking _hell_ did they need to be compensated for the amount of time, effort and bodily harm that had transpired since the start of this little adventure. But it was just a bit awkward.

"I," she began, ready to lie her way out of this-

Only to realise there was nothing.

She had _nothing._

How the fuck could she begin to explain this? It was clear that Jack wasn't convinced by the money argument, at all. But... now that she thought back on it, she wasn't quite sure _what_ had happened.

Gavin and Lindsay. Gavin and Lindsay happened, but she didn't know how she could put it into words that sounded believable. Because she'd been the most resistant from the start, but Gav... Gav with his stupid, sunny smile and sweet disposition. Gavin who made her laugh, who was so fascinated by her magic, who looked at her sometimes like she was the most incredible thing in the world to him. And Lindsay - funny, passionate, fiery Lindsay who managed to both rile her up and make her feel so unbelievably fond. 

She couldn't explain it, and she sat there with her mouth opening and shutting like a fish.

_We stayed because-_

_We had to because-_

_The two of them are just-_

_We-_

_I-_

And then Michael blurted out: "I fucking fell for Gavin, okay?"

Jack's eyes widened in surprise. Even Meg did a double take. They both stared at Michael, whose cheeks were a flaming red.

"We got talking on the trip and I - I really liked him. I don't know, I can't explain it. I fell for him so I made Meg release them and I agreed to take him to Ramsey because I was in love!"

"I... see," Jack said, slowly, and Michael kicked Meg's foot - subtly. _Oh_ , she realised - oh, he was the one with the story, now, and she quickly, frantically nodded.

"Yeah, it's true. I can't say I was happy about it, but as we started spending time together I figured, why not. Ramsey's as powerful as Taurin. Once we got north, who cared who paid us in the end? And this lovesick idiot wasn't about to change his mind."

Jack nodded. He looked confused, and glanced a few times between the two of them before he finally shook his head as though to clear it.

"Right... right. I see. That's... unexpected, but... it makes sense, I suppose."

It would make sense to him, Meg realised, a bit dazedly. This entire time Michael had been hovering over Gavin like a mother hen. He'd been the one who argued desperately for Geoff to help him, who sang Gavin's praises and recited his entire story from memory, who offered to take the blame for all the damages he'd caused by accident during his fit. 

_Holy shit._

_Michael's in love with Gavin._

She'd known it, distantly, but right now it was clear as day. He wasn't lying, even if he didn’t realise it. Holy fucking hell.

She didn't say anything. It was the safest story they had right now, but her hands tightened in fists around handfuls of her skirt as Jack slowly processed this and then nodded.

"When Taurin hired you," he said, "Did you notice anything, anything at all, that might be useful in figuring out why he wants the Flame or what his plans might be?"

"The only thing that really surprised me was that he used magic," Meg said. "He conjured an image of Gavin - presumably from his own memories - to show us. I wasn't aware he'd unlocked his."

"Fuck," Jack breathed, and nodded. "We suspected, but we didn't know for sure. That's not a good sign. That was the only magic he performed?"

"The only one I saw," Meg said, and Jack scribbled furiously. She hoped that was a good sign - that they'd been helpful in some way. When he lowered his quill he again cast them a speculative look.

"The two of you," he said slowly, "Where does your loyalty lie? You haven't been to your home kingdoms in a long time."

Meg opened her mouth, once again found herself with nothing, and glanced helplessly at Michael, who looked similarly lost.

"Yourselves?" Jack prompted. "Or whoever has the most coin?"

It didn't sound mocking, and to be honest, Meg appreciated he had to be careful. They were, after all, on the brink of war in this kingdom.

And she and Michael, until about three weeks ago, hadn't exactly been the sort of people who a king might rely on in a time of crisis. But she still didn't know how to answer the question. Because as much as she liked Geoff, she wasn't loyal to him.

But saying their loyalty was only to themselves suddenly didn't sit right with her either.

Once again, it was Michael who piped up.

"Gavin and Lindsay," he said, determined now. "Although by no means would I call Meg and I heroes, this... this entire journey the two of them have proven themselves as some of the bravest, most self-sacrificing people in the entire land. Our goal was to get them here, and now it's to protect them. I might not believe in Sol, but I believe that Gavin is doing everything he can to make sure that tyranny and darkness don't take over this place. They're our friends, and all we want is to make sure they're okay."

Jack nodded, lowering his head to scribble some more, but Meg fancied he was fighting back a smile. She looked over at Michael and they exchanged a nod; she squeezed his hand. He'd hit exactly on what she hadn't been able to put into words. 

"Okay," Jack said, and flipped to another page in the book. "I have here a list of past jobs you've taken."

"How the hell did he dig that up in one night?" Meg muttered, as Michael pulled a face, and there followed an excruciating five minutes as Jack proceeded to recite a bunch of both their past hits as well as a number of crimes they were wanted for across the land. It felt very surreal, sitting in the palace tea room in bright sunlight, the smell of vanilla cakes and mint tea wafting from the kitchens nearby, while he listed the numerous illegal things they'd done.

"Hal Carver, brought back dead-"

"He stole a lot of money from important people," Meg noted.

"-Roman Torch-"

"A notorious crime syndicate leader! I'm proud of that one," she said, leaning back and folding her arms behind her head.

"Les Potter-"

"Cheated on his wife. He deserved it."

"Alice Trager-"

"Tax evasion, technically we were helping to _follow_ the law on that one."

"-not to mention numerous counts of arson, jaywalking, public urination-"

"Look," Michael cut in, face flaming red.

"-destruction of royal property-"

"It was one flower garden!"

"-petty theft, causing a public disturbance, and trespassing," Jack finished, both eyebrows raised sky-high.

"How the hell did you dig up so much on us literally overnight?" Meg demanded, throwing her hands in the air, and Jack gave a low chuckle, setting the book aside.

"I think it's pretty clear that the two of you have quite the checkered past. Not to mention, these are not one-off incidents of misbehaviour. This is an entire lifestyle, a career built on crime. So if you don't mind, I'd like to ask - what are your plans for the future? You've brought Gavin and Lindsay here, to us. You've fulfilled any obligation you might have felt to them after kidnapping them. What's next?"

Honestly, Meg's plans up until a few days ago had mostly involved taking a very long holiday on the gold that Ramsey would reward them with, and then returning to bounty hunting with Michael while regularly dropping by wherever Lindsay and Gavin ended up living. But somehow she didn't think that was what Jack wanted to hear.

"Are you taking down Taurin?" Michael asked.

Jack looked a bit taken aback.

"Sorry?"

"You and Geoff. You're going to war, right? Planning to take him down?"

"Really?" Meg asked, frowning. "He's a powerful man and not someone to challenge lightly."

"Yes," Jack said, and sighed. "But at this point we have no choice. The situation with the South is becoming... increasingly dire. Gavin confirming that he was indeed the one responsible for the massacre on the Isle has... solidified some of our worst suspicions. We are very likely to attack him soon. Taurin is a very... paranoid man, and he doesn't trust even his closest advisors. If we were to kill him, his entire regime would crumble. He's the backbone of his entire dictatorship."

"In that case, we're on your side," Michael said firmly.

"Michael," Meg began, but he barrelled on.

"Meg's an amazing mage and I'm a skilled fighter. We're willing to work for you to take him down. He's after Gav - so of course we want him dead. Gavin and Lindsay can vouch for our trustworthiness. After that's done - and assuming we survive - we'll probably wait and see what Gav wants to do before we plan our next move."

"Right." A small smile pulled at Jack's lips. "As I'd expect."

Michael blushed a little, but stood his ground - and when Jack's gaze turned to Meg, she nodded as well.

"Yeah," she agreed, and Jack snapped his book shut.

"Well, that's good to hear. I'll be in some meetings with Geoff, now, but we'll consult with you again this afternoon. Please stay in this area, but you're otherwise free to look around."

Meg's sharp eyes didn't miss the way his gaze darted to one of the guards near the door, and her own lips tightened. She didn't doubt they'd be watched closely while they were here - but she pasted an amiable smile on her face and nodded as they watched him leave. As soon as the door shut behind him she turned to Michael.

"Fucking hell," she breathed, and he nodded, grimly.

"He's... not a fan of us."

"I think you pulled us through," she said, "But we'd better play it safe, at least while we're within palace walls." And then, unable to help herself, "In love with Gav, huh?"

Michael looked very pained.

"Look," he said, awkwardly, "Meg-"

"Michael..." Honestly, she wasn't angry. She wasn't even upset. She - wasn't quite sure what she was feeling.

"I just said that to get him off our backs! I didn't mean it."

She bit her lip. Michael sounded like he really _wanted_ to believe that, but he was emotionally constipated at the best of times, and she was pretty good at reading people. He hadn't been lying, she was sure of it.

And if she was honest - she had been adamantly refusing to confront her own feelings for a long time, now. Her stomach was twisting in knots, but Michael's next words made her heart sink further.

"Besides - that thing I had going with him, I broke it off. I very _clearly_ broke it off just the other day."

"Wait, what?" she demanded. "What's that mean?"

"We broke up," he repeated. "Not... not that we were actually _together_ in the first place, but..."

He trailed off, and in that moment, Meg caught it - the flash of sadness and pain in his eyes. Quite frankly, that one look told her everything she needed to know. And honestly... she should be glad that they'd broken up. That would be normal, right? That Michael was more dedicated to being with her, that there was no one else in the picture.

But instead - she just felt a vague, trembling disappointment. She remembered how Michael had looked the other day, fussing over Gavin's hair while the other man stood there staring at him with a big, patient smile, and her heart clenched.

The last thing she wanted was for them to start pulling apart from one another.

She just wasn't sure what the alternative was.

"Meg?" Michael prompted, looking worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She shook herself. "Yeah, I - I'm fine. But I... I think it's time to talk, Michael. We've put it off long enough."

"About what?" he asked, but she knew he was playing dumb, trying to delay the inevitable. 

"About us," she said, firmly, and reached out and took his head. "Let's take a walk. They won't expect us back just yet. Come on."

Michael looked ready to shit himself, but Meg wasn't gonna budge on this. She dragged him towards the door. Her heart was pounding, but she knew they needed to do this. Every time they delayed it, it just meant more opportunities for mistakes and misunderstandings.

 

* * *

 

Jack had said not to leave this area, but Meg figured that meant they were allowed anywhere within the reasonable limits of the guest quarters. A flight of stairs led to a shady inner courtyard, several wooden benches set around a trickling fountain. In the cool den of mossy cobblestone, piles of white snow in the corners, they sat on one of the benches, avoiding looking at one another.

The awkward silence stretched on. It seemed too quiet here, and she felt self-conscious, especially as she stared into the pool of the fountain and caught a glimpse of her reflection. She'd fallen asleep in these clothes last night and the silk was crushed and rumpled. Her hair was all flyaways, and her makeup had smeared around her eyes, rubbed away in places where she'd slept. 

This all just - meant too much, and she had no clue how to start the conversation.

She knew what she wanted out of this. To tell Michael _yes - I love you, I want you, I want us to give this a try, if you're still interested._ But all the rest of it. Gavin, Lindsay, the future. It pressed insistently in on them, made her struggle to see the bigger picture.

But she could tell, from Michael's nervous fidgeting and how he was tense as a stone beside her, that he wasn't about to start the conversation. She swallowed hard, and took a deep breath.

"Remember the first job you and I took together?" she said, abruptly. The memory swam back into her head suddenly - they'd both been young, and far too reckless, and Meg had had a particularly unfortunate haircut that she'd done herself without a mirror when she got a bit too tipsy one night. "I posted a job offer up in the local tavern because I needed a partner to help me break into some merchant’s house. Not sure why I took on a two-person job. Guess I just needed the money."

Michael gave a soft snort.

"You gave me a very thorough interview. Said I'd narrowly beaten out the next guy."

"There's something I never told you about that," she admitted, and he turned to her, eyes wide in surprise. "You were the only person who applied."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah." Her lips twisted, wryly. "No one else wanted to work with a mage."

Michael stared at her for a moment. Then he started laughing, and after a second she did, too, a fit of hysterical giggles. The tension broke and they both slumped back on the bench, shoulders bumping together.

"Guess it was fate," he said, and she grinned.

"Guess it was. And it wasn't a perfect job, either. Remember how we kept getting in each other’s way-"

"And you called my bear cloak ostentatious!"

"Well you wouldn't stop making fun of my bird call signal!"

"For someone who literally _turns into a bird_ you're very bad at fake bird calls. It's not my fault you sounded like a dying cat."

Meg rolled her eyes, elbowed him hard.

"You're an ass. After that I was about to swear off hiring a partner again. But after we pulled it off, in the tavern... you remember what happened next?"

"Of course I do," Michael said, snorting. "You started a barfight when some guy tried to cheat you at cards."

"Yep," Meg said, and smiled - real and wide and warm. "And you were sitting across the room, doing your own thing - chatting up some guy, I think it was? - but the second you saw I was in a brawl you ran over and helped me out. That... that meant a lot."

"We were partners," Michael said, but his eyes were bright.

"The job was finished. You had no obligation to help me. But that... that showed you had my back. That was something I hadn't felt in a long time. I knew, after that, that you were something special."

Michael smiled, but it faded when she reached out - nervous, breathless, her heart butterflying in her chest - and rested a hand on his cheek.

"We've come a long way since then," she said, softly. "I... I don't talk about this sort of stuff easily. Guess I'm not used to it. But Michael, I trust you more than anyone. I think I love you."

Michael stared at her for a moment, and she struggled to meet his eyes, to not drop his gaze. Then his eyes lit up, and his hand came up to fold over hers, and she felt her own smile spread across her face.

“Whatever happens,” he replied, “Whatever the future is… whatever we end up doing, I don’t care as long as the two of us are in it together.”  
  
“I agree,” she said, and he started to lean in - but she stopped him with a hand on his chest, a flash of anxiety rushing through her. His eyes widened, and he looked stricken - but she quickly added, “But before we… we start anything - and I do _want_ to, Michael - we gotta talk about the others.”  
  
Michael bit his lip, guiltily, and she laughed.

“Yeah, I know. It’s awkward, but… we have to. I don’t know if you realised, but Lindsay and I slept together.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The night we stayed in that old cabin, I… you were off with Gavin and she was upset about it because she felt left out so it just sort of happened. We decided not to talk about it but it… it meant something. I can’t pretend it didn’t. And I think I like Gavin, too, although he’s far too shy to ever make a move.”  
  
“Wow. Okay.” Michael looked a bit breathless. “So you…”  
  
“Yes, Michael, I want to be with them. If we can… work it out, somehow. If they want to, as well. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want you, first and foremost and _now_.”  
  
“So you really think… the four of us…”  
  
“I don’t know,” Meg said, suddenly uncertain, “Maybe. It’s… I don’t think Lindsay knows what she wants. And with Gavin it’s hard to tell. We should take things slowly - let them figure things out, let them come to us. But it’s… if you feel that way, it’s not a problem for me, because I do too.”

“As easy as that?”  
  
“It’s only as complicated as we make it,” she pointed out.  
  
Michael nodded. Then he grinned, brightly, and clasped her face in his warm hands.

“I love you,” he said, earnestly, and she felt her cheeks flush. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in. The little gasp he made as their lips touched was endearing, made her smile even as his hands slid around to tangle in her hair and they kissed.

It felt easy, familiar, and as soon as they pulled apart for breath she couldn’t help but reel him back in - when his thumb brushed her cheek she shivered at the rough calluses from years of handling a sword, and when she pressed her hands flat against his chest she could feel the steady pounding of his heart. She was used to being near him - they’d spent years together after all, fighting side by side, living in the small rooms of cheap inns or sleeping back to back for warmth when they were camping - but this felt different, somehow. Closer than they’d ever been.

They pulled apart again, and when she looked up at him his dark eyes were filled with such sheer adoration that it made her blush. She pressed her face against his shoulder, suddenly almost shy. Her heart was thumping so hard it nearly hurt; she wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl, and couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt like this. Probably as a teenager at the Mages’ College.

“Wow,” Michael said, and Meg laughed nervously.

“Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?” she asked, and Michael shrugged. His arms wrapped around her for a moment, holding her close, then he reached out and tilted her head up. 

“We can make up for lost time,” he said, and she smiled and leaned up to kiss him again - any worries or doubts she’d had about this melting away. 

 

* * *

 

“They’re taking a long time,” Gavin said, worriedly.

He stood at the window staring down at the palace gardens. It was bustling with foreign visitors - the weather was fine today and a flock of brightly coloured parasols wandered the beautiful grounds. He squinted, trying to pick out King Ramsey amongst them all, but couldn’t make him out.

_Probably inside. He said he had a meeting, right?_

Everything had happened so fast that he still felt off-balance. It wasn’t quite sinking in that they were here, now. That Geoff would _help_ them. He hated that he hadn’t been there for the part where the others had explained their story. After all, he was the one who’d been on the Isle. It should've been his tale to tell, and he still wasn't quite sure if Geoff understood the magnitude and horror of the situation. Of all the inconvenient times to be unconscious...

"I'm sure they're fine," Lindsay said. She was sitting on the bed polishing off the last of the extravagant breakfast that the servants had brought him - crispy strips of bacon, savoury muffins and little pots filled with fresh fruit and cream. Gavin had picked at it, but he didn't have much of an appetite, too worried about where things were going. It was a bit hard to rest and relax when your fate - and the fate of the entire land - hung in the balance. "Jack wouldn't actually do anything to them."

"We don't know him," Gavin said, worriedly. "We don't know either of them."

Lindsay bit her lip. She patted the bed next to her, and Gavin reluctantly came and sat down next to her.

"I hate that I missed last night," he grumbled. "I don't know what to think of anything. And Jack whisked the others away so quickly we didn't get a chance to catch up."

"Gav..." She pushed the tray away so she could stretch out and rest her chin in her hands, staring up at him. "Last night was awful. We were all worried sick about you because we didn't know if it was one of your normal headaches or something else. Honestly, it was pretty much Michael begging forgiveness from Geoff and then spilling the whole story in a very hysterical manner. It was not at all organised, dignified or really very coherent. Then we had to repeat ourselves a lot because we got really confused and kept leaving out important stuff by accident. But Geoff... Geoff was really lovely about it."

"He was?" Gavin asked, and she nodded.

"Yeah. We didn't meet Jack that night, but there were some other counsellors and generals and things there, and they kept trying to pester us about the details, but Geoff held them all at bay. He was really patient with us, and really positive and sincere, and he kept telling us we weren't in trouble and thanking us for bringing something so important to him. He made sure the best healers in the palace were by your side. And he gave us all free dinner."

Gavin's shoulders slumped in relief.

"Well, that's good," he said, and Lindsay nodded.

"I trust that the priests knew what they were doing sending us here. And so far I've had no reason to doubt that."

"Okay," he whispered, and she reached out and rubbed his shoulder.

"Relax, Gavin. We made it. We're here! We're close to the end."

"I hope you're right," he murmured. "And not just in for another wild ride."

"Well, for today you've been ordered by the king himself to relax," she teased, as she got up and started clearing the tray from the bed, "So you at least have a chance to rest before anything else crazy happens."

Gavin rolled his eyes - but still, a weight had eased from his mind, and he made himself more comfortable, shimmying out of his uncomfortable jacket and undoing some of the laces on his expensive clothes before lounging back in the bed. The last lingering pain from his headache had finally subsided. It just felt strange, for once, to have finally reached their destination and not have the constant nagging feeling that they were running out of time, that they needed to be making progress.

When she was finished, Lindsay clambered into the bed with him. For a second it felt like they were children once again, climbing into bed to tell each other nighttime stories, or play at making shadow-puppets with a lantern. She bounced a few times on the mattress and Gavin yelped as it nearly sent him flying.

"This thing's springy," Lindsay observed.

"You don't say!"

"There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about," Lindsay said, and for a second Gavin's chest froze up. For some reason it made him think of Michael and all his 'now we're here I gotta talk to Meg' drama. It seemed very odd to him that they were gonna specifically schedule a time and place to talk about getting together, but hey, whatever worked for them. He wasn't bitter about it. No, seriously, he wasn't - he was a little sad that things with he and Michael had come to an end, but honestly, they'd reached their natural conclusion. And if Michael and Meg did get together, well, he was happy for them. They were two of the best people he knew and they were clearly deeply in love with one another. They belonged together. It was plain to see.

"What?" he asked, with so much trepidation that Lindsay laughed.

"No need to look terrified. It's not that big a deal."

"Oh. Okay." His shoulders slumped and she rolled her eyes again.

"Last night - somewhere in all the confusion - Geoff was asking me about the Academy and how I had nearly finished my training to be a Paladin of Sol. The way he was talking about it... well, it made it pretty clear he expected me to go back and complete the training."

"Oh," Gavin said. Since Lindsay left Solaire in the dead of night to come and meet him in the South, the thought of what she'd left behind hadn't crossed his mind. They'd just been so focused on evading Taurin and getting him here. "I guess that makes sense?"

"Yeah," she murmured.

"Is that what you want to do?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I definitely want to complete the training, but to be honest... my main motive in becoming a Paladin was to come back to the Isle and guard the Flame. That's what the priests always told me was my destiny. And I... I guess the idea of the lifestyle still appeals to me. I'd love to continue serving Sol and the values of his worshippers. Protecting the people and fighting for what I believe in... on paper it sounds great."

"On paper," he repeated, quietly.

"See, I might get assigned somewhere far away from here," Lindsay said, and nudged him. "And I... I don't really wanna leave you behind again. At least, not right away."

"Oh," Gavin said, and found his cheeks flushing warm for some reason. It was silly, because it wasn't like they didn't declare their affection for one another all the time, or that he hadn't known Lindsay wanted to stick close by to him, but hearing it out loud... it was nice.

Lindsay looked a bit embarrassed, too.

"So I was wondering," she said, "In a dream world, when all of this is over, assuming everything is peaceful and we defeat Taurin-"

"And by the grace of Sol we will!" Gavin declared, optimistically. They high-fived.

"-what do you want to do?" she finished.

Gavin chewed his lip. The question honestly took him by surprise. He'd spent some time thinking about the future on the road, especially when he and Michael were together, but they'd always been fleeting, fanciful day-dreams. Not a proper consideration of what he'd be doing with his life- more things he wanted to try, places he wanted to visit. A lot of different meats he wanted to sample.

"I want to travel," he said. "See the world. See all the places I've never been to."

"But after that?" she urged. "Will you settle down? Is there a job you want to do?"

"I... I don't know what job I really can do," he admitted. "Right now I'm sort of just a human candlestick!"

"You could become a scholar," she said, and bit her lip. "But I was thinking that most people probably assume you'll just join the priesthood."

Gavin's mouth dropped open. But then, the more he thought about it... he supposed it made sense. After all, he had spent his entire life devoted to the god of light. He'd grown up surrounded by literally no one except priests, he'd been immersed in their rituals and routines since practically the moment he was born, and even now his quest involved being the chosen one to carry their holiest relic.

"You'd probably end up high priest some day," Lindsay added. "No one's more devoted to Sol than you. Hell, he's visited you in a dream! You must be chosen for it."

"I... I guess so," Gavin said. It made sense - logically - but somehow, something about it didn't quite sit right with him. And Lindsay's voice... there was something forced to its enthusiasm. "But if I was a priest, I'd have to devote my entire life to it. To take the vows you... you need to dedicate your entire life to the worship and pursuit of Sol and his message. And I'd like to help people, I'd like to dedicate my life to the poor and the sick and praying for peace and happiness, but I don't think I'd want to go home to a temple at the end of the day."

_I don't think I want to give up you guys,_ he thought, but didn't say it. Because that was the unspoken truth. The life of a priest was a fulfilling path, but one that didn't leave much room for personal relationships. Of course, they had friends, some even had lovers - among the others in the priesthood. But outsiders tended to struggle connecting with someone who would always rank Sol number one in their life. 

Lindsay nodded, slowly.

"I figured you might want to try other things first," she murmured. "Because you've spent so long on the Isle with nothing but priests."

"I _would_ like to study," Gavin said, with a small smile. "Visit the great universities and colleges across the kingdoms."

"That would be one option," Lindsay said. "Maybe you'll find your calling there."

"But I guess the priesthood does make sense," he couldn't help adding with a frown, because she was right, it did. It seemed logical. He just - didn't think he _wanted_ it. Still - he saw her open her mouth, then seem to change her mind, glancing away again.

"Right," she murmured.

"Because if I was a priest and you were a paladin, we might still be working together," he said.

"I guess so," she said, but didn't sound too enthusiastic.

A slightly strained silence fell. It occurred to Gavin that now that they were here, and Meg and Michael were talking about their relationship, it might be time for him and Lindsay to do the same. After all, Michael had broken things off with him, and it was difficult not to notice that Lindsay had been a bit iffy about that whole business.

_What do you want from her?_ he thought, and frowned.

The problem was, they'd fallen into a lot of routines that were hard to break. Of course he loved Lindsay. Of course she was the most important person in the world to him. He trusted her with his life, and he'd die for her if need be.

But it was terrifying to even think about taking the next step - to consider what it might be like to ask more from her. Especially because - now that she'd brought it up - pursuing anything like that could majorly fuck up their future prospects, if she did decide to become a Paladin, if he did end up joining the priesthood. There were just... a lot of unanswered questions, a lot of possible outcomes that they couldn't predict.

"Lindsay..." he began, no clue where he was going with it but needing, somehow, to say _something._

"What?" She looked up, almost hopefully, and he bit his lip.

_What does_ she _want?_ That was the question, one he thought he knew the answer to - but couldn't be certain, and, suddenly, was very scared to ask. Instead, he reached out and took her hand.

"Thank you for getting me here," he whispered. "Thank you for _being_ there. There is no one else in the world I would rather have by my side in this."

She smiled a little. There was a funny look in her eyes.

“Gavin…”  
  
“I know things have been… complicated lately. But if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that I never want to lose you.”  
  
She squeezed his hand, then leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Likewise,” she whispered. Then, “I… seeing you and Michael… and him and Meg… a lot’s happened, and I’m not sure where things are going with them. Or with us.”  
  
_Okay. She wants to talk about it_. He swallowed, nervously, and bit his lip. But even if the future was on the horizon, even if he wanted nothing more than to pull her close to him right now, even if he missed Michael and Meg and they hadn’t even been gone an hour…

His destiny still cast a shadow over them that he couldn’t shake off. It didn’t matter what he _wanted_. It never had.

It pained him - but he swallowed, hard, and said, “I… I want a lot out of this, Lindsay. I want more than is good for me. But the fight’s still going on and we don’t know where we’ll all end up. I think we should agree not to start anything right now. Not until we know where things are going.”  
  
Her face fell, she couldn’t hide it, and he quickly reached out and put a hand on her cheek.

“Lindsay, I… I’m not saying I don’t want to. Because I _do_ \- more than I can say. But that’s why I don’t want to rush into a decision. I just… I can’t. Right now, this is bigger than the two of us. I don’t want to make you a promise I can’t keep.”  
  
“I understand,” she said, and although her voice was thick, he knew she did mean it. “I… I really do, Gavin. That’s what I love about you. You’ve always been so selfless.”  
  
Right now, the last thing he wanted was to be selfless. He wished he could just say _fuck them all_ and reach out and kiss her right now. He wished he could tell Michael and Meg he wanted them, too. Wished he could throw aside his duty and just run away and live in a cave somewhere with the three of them and okay, this daydream was getting a _little_ out of hand.

Point was, he couldn’t.

That wasn’t him. It never had been. His fate had been out of his hands since he was a child.

But if anything, it only motivated him to want to succeed even more. To get this over with so he could finally be _free_.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, thumb stroking against her cheek, and watched her eyes slip shut for a moment.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s for the best. And once this is all over we’ll talk about it.”  
  
“Of course,” he said, and let her tug him forward, into a tight hug.

The disappointment was heavy in his chest, and he could tell from the way she was clutching at him that it was weighing on her, too. But what else could they do? They might have reached Ramsey, but their journey wasn’t over yet, and both of them were far too responsible to shirk their duties. So until then…

Until then, it couldn’t happen. No matter how much they both wanted it to.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day passed in a strange daze. An hour or so later, Michael and Meg returned to the room, and they were both positively _glowing._ It was pretty clear that they'd gotten together - even if they weren't being obvious about it, there was something about the smiles they shot each other, the easy, casual touches that made it impossible to miss.

An ugly, bitter feeling rose up at the back of Gavin's mind as he looked at them. He hated himself for it. It wasn't that he was jealous, not really. He actually was happy for them - if things hadn't worked out, the fallout would've been awful. But he couldn't help but miss Michael, and what they'd had. Couldn't help but stare longingly at Meg and think about how much he adored her. And couldn't help but resent that the two of them, with their vagabond, mercenary lifestyles, were free to do what they wanted while he and Lindsay were bound by the shackles of duty and obligation.

_Lindsay._

Things weren't awkward with her, just sort of vaguely _tragic._ But also - now that the initial stabs of disappointment and regret had faded to a dull throb - there was a faint, excited buzz in the pit of his stomach.

_She wants you too._

_If things work out, this is something that could happen. Maybe not right now. But it could. She loves you. You love her._

There was something... _nice_ , about the certainty that they did feel that way about each other. And as scared and sad as he was about the rest of it, that, at least, was a light in the darkness, and they exchanged their own small smiles and lingering glances.

If Michael and Meg noticed something was off, they didn't comment. The four of them sat around and discussed the castle, their hosts, their plans if things went south, and then played cards until evening began to fall and there was another knock on the door.

A servant stood outside; he bowed deep and swept a hand out.

"His majesty King Ramsey will see you now. Please, follow me."

Lindsay reached out and squeezed Gavin's hand; he took a shaky breath, his stomach tight with nerves, and they followed the man out of the room.

Gavin hadn't seen much of the castle. After all, he'd been unconscious the entire trip up here into the guest chambers, and then had spent the rest of the day in a single bedroom. But he barely had time to take in the grand corridors, vaulted ceilings and very tasteful wallpaper, because moments later the servant was leading them down a stone staircase that seemed to wind down several storeys and then out a door into the castle grounds.

"Was that the fire escape?" Michael wondered, staring back up at the stone staircase. "I feel kind of dizzy after all those stairs."

"Me too," Gavin muttered, and Michael shot him an amused look.

Night had fallen, early as it was winter, and they stood by the side of the castle. The high stone wall to one side of them blocked any moonlight, and the rest of the passage was lit only by torches in brackets along the wall. Gavin shivered, wishing he'd remembered his cloak. No one had warned him they'd be going outdoors.

"There they are!" Geoff called out, and they turned to see him hurrying towards them, Jack in tow and a torch in hand. "Apologies that it took so long. We've had a lot of meetings today. How're y'all doing?"

Gavin lowered his head, still far too scared to speak to the king - but Michael stepped forward. Gavin saw him meet Jack's eyes for a moment before he turned towards Geoff.

"We're fine, my lord, though a little confused. Where exactly are we going?"

"To visit my brother!" Geoff announced. "I said that this morning, didn't I? Come on, follow me. It's too cold to stand around outside."

He turned and began power-walking around the side of the castle. They quickly bustled after him, though Gavin was still highly confused exactly what was going on, who they were visiting and why the hell they were outdoors.

"Well rested, Gavin?" Geoff asked, cheerily. He himself was bundled up in a fantastic white fur coat that made him look like a great big snow bear.

"Yes, thank you," Gavin replied, a bit shyly. "The bed was very comfortable."

"Great! I know you're confused, but I'll explain everything shortly. The short version is, we think we know what the Flame might be. We've seen similar magic before and although I have no idea why the hell it's _inside_ you, if anyone can figure it out, it's my brother."

"If you don't mind me asking," Meg piped up, "I thought you were an only child. I wasn't aware you had a brother."

“Oh, I don’t - not technically,” Geoff said, glancing over his shoulder at them. He really was a very fast walker, the rest of them were practically jogging to keep up. “Ryan was my father’s ward. He was raised in our palace since he was just a boy. He and I grew up together - we had our schooling together, learned to fight together, even slept in the same room as children! He is my brother in all but blood.”  
  
“The public knows very little of him,” Jack added.

“He prefers it that way,” Geoff said. “He’s a fantastic scholar and an even greater scientist.”  
  
“A mage?” Meg questioned, and Geoff shook his head.

“No - an anthropologist, he calls himself. He specialises in study of the history of the Fey and magical artifacts, but he’s not a mage himself and his magic isn’t unlocked. But more importantly - his father was a great man. One of the king’s most honoured soldiers. He spent the majority of his life undercover in Taurin’s territory, in his ranks as one of his most trusted men. He was privy to many of his travels and adventures and he uncovered a great deal of information that Ryan has since committed to memory. So as we prepare for war, he is an invaluable resource.”

“He’s a spy!” Lindsay cried, gleefully, and Geoff shot her an amused look.

“Well, his dad was. Although Ryan has lodgings on palace grounds, he spends most of his time in his study. And due to the… sensitive nature of some of his experiments, it’s fairly well hidden.”  
  
Jack turned to them with a stern look.

“What we’re about to show you is unknown to most of the general public,” he said. “I hope you’ll act with the appropriate discretion.”  
  
Gavin nodded, wide-eyed - but a moment later Geoff laughed and rested a hand on Jack’s back, a comfortable, easy touch.

“Relax, Jack. They’re fine.”  
  
“Geoff.” Jack leaned in and whispered, urgently, “We don’t know these people.”  
  
“If Gavin’s carrying what we think he is, they already know too much. I think they’re on our side. Leap of faith, alright?” he said, and squeezed Jack’s hand, leaning in close with a grin. Jack met his eyes and then nodded, and Geoff’s hand trailed down his arm reassuringly.

By now they’d reached what by all accounts looked like a cellar. Hidden in a dark corner of the palace grounds, past several gates with armed guards and in one of the most inconspicuous shadowy nooks, there was a trapdoor in the ground, the doors locked. Geoff bent and took a key from a chain around his neck, and Gavin heard several heavy locks click open. The servant hurried forward and yanked the heavy trapdoors open.

A square of darkness greeted them, a steep staircase sloping down into pitch blackness. 

“Follow me,” Geoff said. In the flickering light of the torch he held, his smile was wide, almost manic, and he turned and descended into the darkness, vanishing as though he had slipped away underwater. Jack moved to follow him.

Gavin took a step forward - then swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

_At the bottom of this pit lie all the answers you’ve been wondering about for months._

_You’ll finally know what you’re carrying. Why this is so important._

_More than that. You’ll finally know why Taurin slaughtered everyone on the Isle. Why he burned your home and massacred your entire family. You will finally know what was worth all their blood - what is worth your entire life and destiny._

He’d thought he was ready for this moment, but suddenly fear seized up his chest and he was trembling so hard he could barely stay upright. He wasn’t sure if it was obvious - but a moment later Lindsay press up against his side, her hand slipping into his.

“We’re right here, Gav,” she whispered. “Come on.”  
  
“We’ve got you,” Michael added, hand pressing against his back - and then Meg was up by his other side, looking up at him with her intent, focused gaze.

_Deep breaths now_. He closed his eyes, let himself feel them, for a moment - surrounded by his friends, by those who had made this long and terrible journey with him. With them by his side, it was easier to be brave, and he nodded, and opened his eyes, and followed Geoff down into the darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

**** There was something playing on Meg's mind. Had been since they arrived in the North.

She was pretty sure Geoff's kingdom was markedly more tolerant of magic users than some places, especially down in the south, much further from the Mages' College. But she wasn't a hundred percent certain. It'd been a long time since she was here.

Some kingdoms got real funny about magic. Put a lot of restrictions and laws on the sort of things that could be practiced. And while elemental magic was generally tolerated, things like transfiguration were a bit more dicey. Blood magic, of course, was outlawed across the entire continent, as poor Jeremy had learned firsthand. Either way, she was hoping to play it safe, at least until she could gauge properly exactly where Geoff - and Jack, too, as it seemed he had a lot of sway here - sat on that particular scale.

But she was deathly curious about this Ryan figure - the study of the Fey had been one of her favourite topics at the college, and though she didn't know a huge deal about it, she'd always found it very interesting. So it was with high hopes that she stepped out of the dark stairwell and blinked a few times as they entered an expansive chamber, brightly lit by glowing lines of redstone around the entire ceiling.

She heard Lindsay gasp next to her, and had to swallow her own awe as she stared around with wide eyes.

"Fucking hell," Michael breathed, "Does this place stretch under the entire castle?"

"Pretty much!" Geoff replied, shrugging his coat off and striding forward.

Meg realised absently that it was very warm in here - oddly so. There was something stagnant to the underground space, but more than that, a sort of humid, pulsing _warmth._ It felt odd to say that it felt like they were standing inside a giant womb, but she felt an odd... presence, almost, as though something was reaching out and mingling with her mana. Like a finger running down the back of her neck. She didn't know if the others felt it, without their magic unlocked.

The workshop was an immense space, lit a warm red. The walls were lined with bookshelves crammed with thick volumes, and the room itself was filled with all sorts of workbenches, machinery and glass display cases. Each was packed to the brim with more things than she could wrap her head around. She could've spent hours just figuring out what the fuck everything in the room was - not to mention, three other doors branched off from this main chamber.

"Do you guys feel weird at all?" she asked, turning - right in time to see Gavin's face twist. 

He'd been staring around, as incredulous as the rest of them. Now his eyes screwed up and he doubled over, clutching his head.

"Fuck! Not again!" Lindsay yelled, already by his side supporting him.

"Gav?" Meg reached out, only to hesitate. The last thing she wanted was to knock him out and have him be unconscious for another twelve hours right when they were about to get all the answers. Gavin clawed at his chest.

"Flame," he gasped, and Lindsay looked up at Meg, desperately.

"What's happening? This isn't like the usual headaches. The one from _yesterday_ wasn't like the usual headaches."

Meg could only gape uselessly at her. She didn't have the answers Lindsay wanted, and Gavin sank to the floor, Michael moving to cradle him in his arms-

"Ryan!" Geoff hollered, loudly enough to make them all jump. He rushed to Gavin's side and reached out, running a hand through Gavin's hair. "Sorry, buddy. This one's on us."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Meg demanded - a jolt of panicked outrage shooting through her. She stared at him, then at Jack - who was hanging back, worriedly - but before she really had time to wrap her mind around the chaos, a door slammed open on the other side of the room, and a man rushed out towards them.

"What's going on?" he cried, and Geoff rose and reached out to him.

"Ryan! This is Gavin, the boy I told you about. He's having another of the headaches."

The man approached and Meg and Lindsay both instinctively moved in front of Gavin, blocking him. Her eyes darted up and down him. He was a little younger than Geoff, and an imposingly tall man - but his height was the only intimidating thing about him. A wild shock of blond hair stood out in all directions, and clear blue eyes met hers - wide with curiosity and a little confusion, but no malice in them. He was a little scruffy and unshaven, and his clothes - the same simple robes she saw a lot of the alchemists at the Mages' College wearing, easy to wash and with big pockets - were rumpled, like they hadn’t been well kept.

He looked like some sort of eccentric scholar, a pair of thin gold-rimmed spectacles hanging on a chain around his neck, and she tugged Lindsay aside.

"Meg..." Lindsay began, worriedly.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Meg whispered back. "He does."

"Shit. It's the Orb," Ryan said, brow furrowed as he bent and pressed the back of his hand to Gavin's forehead. Meg reached out with her mana, carefully, trying to see if his magic was unlocked. She found that it was, and drew back quickly. 

"Are you casting a spell on him?" she demanded, and Ryan looked up and met her eyes. For a second he looked almost scared - _of her? -_ then he shook his head.

"No, but we can fix this. Give me one second."

He sprinted across the room and began rummaging in a drawer. Michael was still clutching Gavin, and he let out an alarmed sound.

"Uh, guys..."

Meg turned and cursed as she noticed Gavin's eyes were glowing again. There was something almost hypnotic about the sight, and she was struck, for a moment, by how much he looked like the paintings of Sol descending to walk among men. As though the sun itself was trapped inside him, and shining out from behind his eyes.

"Shit," she hissed, and frantically ushered Lindsay aside - then, forgetting propriety, seized Geoff's arm too and yanked him out of Gavin's path. "Get out of the way before he knocks you out!"

Geoff made a muffled and rather high-pitched noise of protest. The next thing Meg knew, Ryan was rushing back towards them - brandishing a pair of cuffs. Michael looked up and let out a growl.

"You're not fucking putting him in manacles, fucking hell-"

"Trust me," Ryan snapped, and Meg noticed the glowing ruins on the metal. She shook her head.

"It won't work! We had magic suppressing cuffs on him before but this is different, it's not mana-"

Ryan ignored her. He crouched down and slapped the cuffs on Gavin's wrists - and to Meg's surprise, his body relaxed instantly. He curled in on himself with a final shudder, but the glow in his eyes dulled, and the pained, pinched look on his face slowly faded away. Meg stared in confusion. She bent down and examined the cuffs. The runes were different - she couldn't read them; they were in a strange script unlike anything she'd seen before. She turned and looked up at Ryan.

Now that the panic was over, he was breathing heavily and staring around at each of them. When her eyes met his, his face turned red and he looked away almost shyly.

"Well," Geoff declared finally. "That was all a bit exciting."

"Gavin?" Michael prompted, rubbing his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Gavin mumbled. Lindsay was stroking his back too, making soothing clucking noises. "Feeling better. But the Flame still feels... weird."

"Weird how?" Meg asked.

"Hotter. Stronger. It doesn't hurt, but as soon as we walked in here it got more intense." He uncurled a little, peering up at the others. "What's going on?"

Meg whirled on Geoff, remembering.

"Before - you said _this one's on us_. The fuck did that mean?" For a second she nearly forgot she was speaking to a king - she didn't trust easily, and the thought that these two might just be more people who wanted to use Gavin for their own ends, who had secrets and lies they were keeping from them, was infuriating.

"We'll get there," Geoff assured her, and offered Gavin a hand up. They clambered to their feet, flustered and ruffled, and he turned and swept an arm towards Ryan. "Not quite the introduction I'd hoped for, but this is Ryan. Ryan - Meg and Michael, the hired swords I mentioned. Lindsay, a Paladin of Sol. And Gavin, who is carrying the Flame."

Ryan seemed to have eyes only for Gavin. He barely glanced at the rest of them. His eyes were filled with something like awe, and as Meg watched he reached out towards Gavin as though to touch him, only to falter at the last moment.

"Extraordinary," he breathed.

Gavin blinked a few times, then turned bright red.

"Um," he said. "Thanks?"

"What are those cuffs?" Michael demanded. "What the hell's going on here?"

"We have a lot to explain," Jack said, ruefully. "Perhaps we should have told them some of it back at the palace."

"It has to be seen to be believed," Geoff grunted - but Meg was examining the cuffs again, and after a moment she exclaimed in surprise.

"These are Fey runic symbols." She turned to Ryan, who was nodding. "Aren't they?"

"She knows her stuff." He sounded admiring, although he wasn't quite meeting her eyes - cutting a flustered, awkward sort of figure who didn't seem to quite know what to do with his hands. "Yes. It's a spell for containing ancient magic. Similar to what is used sometimes for enchanting objects or storing important artefacts. We have been trying to use the spell to harness... well, we'll show you."

"Show us what?" Meg cried, whirling around. "You said something about an orb before."

Ryan ignored her, turning to Geoff instead.

"You were right," he said. "He's carrying the last one."

"The last _what?"_ Michael and Meg demanded in unison.

"We'll show you. Come on," Ryan said, and then peered over Meg's shoulder and pulled a very alarmed face. "Um, sorry, could you please not touch anything?"

Lindsay had taken the chance to wander off and begin peering in all the glass storage cases. She'd taken some sort of potion down from a shelf and uncorked it. A rather ominous purple smoke was billowing from the open neck of the bottle. She gave it a mighty sniff and broke into a coughing fit.

"Fuck me, that's potent!"

"That is a highly volatile solution!" Ryan rushed over and took it from her. "Please, don't touch anything! There are some very delicate experiments going on down here."

"Do I have to stay handcuffed?" Gavin asked meekly, and Geoff reached over and unlatched the chain so that his hands, at least, were mobile.

"Just for now," he said, resting a hand on Gavin's shoulder. "Once you're out of the lab the Flame shouldn't feel as strong."

Meg glanced at Michael, who looked just as out of his fucking depth as she did. But they'd gone too far to back out now, and both of them fell back by Gavin's side, flanking him protectively - Lindsay taking up the rear - as they followed the three men across the lab to a great metal door with an odd symbol engraved on it.

"What we're about to show you is something that most in the kingdom have no idea about," Jack said. "A type of power that is not only extremely dangerous but could cause great unrest across the lands. I must be assured that you will remain bound to secrecy."

"We're already on the run from the most dangerous man in the land," Michael pointed out. "Trust me, we can keep our mouths shut."

"Good," Jack said.

Ryan had stepped up to the doors. Having examined the symbol Meg concluded that the doors were magically sealed; as she watched, Ryan raised a hand and closed his eyes. He was calling on his mana to unlock it, she realised - a spell that he'd likely designed himself that only he knew how to cast. It was complex magic and a form not often practiced. She wondered where he'd studied - and what else he could do.

As the symbol slowly began to glow blue, Geoff turned to the rest of them. His usual cheer had faded and he looked nothing but solemn now.

"This may all seem hard to believe," he began, "But then again, you've come a long way and seen many things that have likely left you with a lot of questions. But first, tell me - what do you know about the origins of the Flame?"

Meg and Michael immediately glanced at Lindsay and Gavin. Lindsay's face had lit up like a child who finally knows the answer to her teacher's questions.

"The Flame is Sol's gift to humankind to provide them with light and warmth, to always bring the day back after night falls!" she cried. Gavin nodded enthusiastically. He still had a hand pressed to his chest, and though he didn't look like he was in pain, Meg wished she could reach out to him and reassure him.

"And what do you know about the Fey?" Geoff asked.

_The Fey?_ This was just getting more and more complicated. Meg didn't know what the fuck they had to do with anything.

Gavin was the one who piped up and answered.

"Sol's first followers. He gifted them the elements and after they'd learned all they could, they all fell asleep and he sent humans to learn next."

"So the story goes." Geoff looked down, brows furrowed thoughtfully. Ryan was still intently focused on the door; half the symbol had lit up with an electric blue light. His palms glowed faintly too. Meg reached out surreptitiously, gently probed at the spell with her own magic.

_Fuck, he has a lot of mana._ She hadn't felt a sorcerer this powerful since some of the ancient mages who'd taught at the college. It seemed at odds with the awkward way he held his body, hunched like he didn't want to take up too much space, with his wild hair and inability to hold eye contact. Now he seemed focused - intense - his spine had straightened.

_I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of that sort of magic._

"I told you earlier," Geoff continued, "I'm not a follower of Sol. We worship several minor deities here in the North, but even so, I'm not particularly religious, though I wouldn't call myself entirely a non-believer. But still - there is stock in myths and legends. They serve to explain a lot of things about our world."

"I'm not quite sure how this is relevant," Meg said - she tried to sound polite, but Michael still elbowed her, and she cast him a glare, though there was no heat in it. "What does Sol have to do with all of this?"

"Not Sol, but the Flame, and what it really is….”

Geoff paused. He shook himself, and took a deep breath.

"Edgar Taurin." He spat the name. "A world renowned adventurer. He is known to have explored many parts of the Southern land as well as the islands that surround the continent. A great adventurer, researcher, cartographer. His travels brought him not only fame, but fortune - and with fortune, of course, comes power. But what a lot of people don't know is that he wasn't travelling just for the fun of it. He was looking for something."

Meg stiffened. Taurin's words came back to her - gods, it felt like forever ago at this point. _When you find your passion..._

"What?" Lindsay whispered, but before Geoff could answer, a bright glow from the door made them all turn.

Ryan had completed his spell, and as they watched, the door slowly slid down into the floor. Meg's stomach twisted.

Whatever was in the room beyond, it was magical - and powerful. She felt suddenly almost sick with nerves. Until now it hadn't quite hit her - the scope of what they were dealing with here. Taurin had been one thing - a powerful man and a killer, but still just a _man_. But suddenly, she realised with a looming dread that they were grappling with powerful forces of magic beyond anything she'd ever experienced.

"Come in," Geoff said. "We'll show you."

A hand touched hers. She turned, expecting Gavin - but to her surprise it was Lindsay who'd reached out. The other woman didn't look at her, her gaze fixed ahead and her smile gone for once, a worried look on her face - but her hand slipped into Meg's, and Meg let her, squeezing reassuringly as they followed Geoff in.

The stone chamber they walked into was cold, lit as the others had been by redstone. It was also entirely empty, save a strange contraption on one side of the room. The first thing Meg thought was, oddly, _altar_ \- and in particular, the altars to Anarchy, on which a variety of living things were regularly sacrificed.

A round stone block rose from the floor, surrounded by four pointed obelisks of what she thought might be obsidian. Carved into each were glowing blue runes, similar to what Gavin wore on his cuffs. And hovering above the altar, as though suspended somehow by the surrounding pillars, was...

Well, she didn't know quite what to call it.

_Orb_ , she recalled the others saying. She supposed that was an apt description, visually speaking, for it was a round, glowing ball. But she knew immediately that this was no material substance, nothing to be found in the gods' natural earth. It was, she could feel, pure, blazing magic, just as she'd felt when she reached into Gavin to see what he was carrying inside him. It was bright, but somehow didn't hurt to look at - glowing a gentle, inviting white. Like sunlight on snow, perhaps, or the clouds just past dawn. As she stared into it she caught rivets of motion.

_Wind captured in a marble._ If she had to put it into words, that would be it. 

The others gasped beside her, and Lindsay's hand squeezed hers nearly tightly enough to be painful. For a moment they stood in silence, just taking it in. You could get lost in it, the longer you stared - something almost hypnotic to the motions that shifted constantly inside. It was at once chaotic and peaceful, like the eye of a hurricane.

Michael was the one to break the silence.

"So the fuck is that," he demanded, and Geoff barked out a laugh.

"I wish we knew for sure," he said. "We've been calling it the Orb, but gods know what it actually is. An ancient magic, that's for certain."

"Where'd you get it?" Meg asked.

"My grandfather discovered it," Geoff explained, "Long ago and high in the mountains, and it has been entrusted to the safekeeping of my family ever since. The court mages and a number of scholars have since investigated it and what we've come up with, is... well, alarming, to say the least."

Their looks of confusion must've indicated they weren't following very well. Jack stepped forward.

"Gavin," he said, "You said before that Sol gifted the Fey the elements. Whether that's true or not, what we do know for certain is that at the four corners of the compass were located four very powerful pieces of magic - perhaps remnants from the creation of the world, perhaps something else. Who can know. Earth. Air. Water. And fire," he said, and pointed at Gavin's chest.

There was a nearly comical silence as Gavin stared down at himself and all eyes turned to him.

"The Flame," he said slowly, "The Flame is the same type of magic as.... as whatever that is?"

"Separate they were already strong forms of magic," Ryan cut in. "But together they grow even more powerful. You felt it as soon as you stepped into the palace. And again when you came down here."

Beside her, Michael reached up and rubbed his temples.

"Fucking hell, this is getting complicated," he grunted. Meg smiled in sympathy - he’d never had a head for anything involving magic or how it worked.

"The Fey didn't have mana, but they could use magic," Ryan continued. He wasn't looking at any of them, just staring into the Orb - but his fists were clenched tightly by his sides. "From my research I believe that that was because they drew their power directly from the earth itself - from these elemental forms of Old Magic. And in the artefacts they left behind, their runic system also allows us to harness them. The magic contained in these things is greater than any human's mana. If used to power machinery or weaponry, the effects could be catastrophic."

Meg swallowed, hard. She was following - sort of - this was clearly a very, very pared down version of what must have been a lifetime of research. The Fey, after all, were ancient history. They hadn't left a great deal behind and most of popular knowledge was just myth and legend. The actual archeology and history was complex and left a lot to be guessed at.

"So you have one of these things," she began.

"The element of air," Ryan added. Finally he looked at her - for about two seconds, then glanced away again, shyly.

"Okay. And for some reasons the priests had the fire one. So what about earth and water?"

As soon as she asked, she saw Geoff and Jack's faces cloud over.

"That's where we get to the bad news," Geoff sighed. "Taurin has them."

"Wait, he fucking knows about this?" Michael snapped.

"Yep," Geoff said. He was grinning, now, but it was more of a humourless grimace, lips stretched back over his teeth. "Unfortunately. He is a very intelligent man, and very well versed in the history of the continent. After all, he discovered much of it himself. In his travels he must have somehow become aware of these magics - and set out on a quest to find them. In the east he located the Earth Stone; in the west what worshippers of the sea goddess called the legendary Pearl. He scoured the south, conquering it and building his kingdom there, searching for the Flame, but never found it. Hardly anyone worships Sol down there, so little did he know it was on the Isle the entire time. When he finally put the pieces together..."

He trailed off, looking at Gavin, whose eyes widened in horror.

"That's why he killed them all." His voice was a broken whisper. "He massacred the priests and burned the entire Isle because he wanted the Flame for himself."

"Exactly," Geoff said. Meg reached out with her free hand and squeezed Gavin's shoulder.

Honestly, as much as they all seemed to be taking this in stride, she figured the others were just as shell-shocked as she was.

It was a lot to take in. Not only was the threat against them greater than anyone had anticipated, but it brought into existence certain realities and forces about their world that she hadn't ever considered before. She swallowed a few times, shutting her eyes and trying to wrap her head around this.

_Okay. Okay, so this is what we're dealing with._

_Just accept it and keep going. All you can do for now._

Lindsay's hand was warm and strong in hers. She found it oddly grounding, and when she opened her eyes she took a deep breath.

"How close do you think he is?" she asked. "To figuring out a way to use his elements as weapons."

They glanced at one another, and the looks on their faces made dread stir in Meg's stomach.

"According to our spies," Geoff said quietly, "He's already there. Ryan's nearly finished trying to find a way to weaponise the Orb, but we need to attack as soon as possible. Now that you've brought the Flame, we're evenly matched."

_The Flame._ Meg turned to Gavin to find his head hanging down. Michael had one arm around him, protectively. His shoulders were heaving and Meg felt another heart-wrenching pang.

As strange as all of this must be to hear, none of this meant more to anyone than Gavin. She couldn't imagine what must be going through his head.

"So how come Gavin's got the Flame inside him?" Lindsay piped up, and Ryan jolted like he'd been given an electric shock.

He spun around and stared at Gavin for a long moment, until the other man was shifting uncomfortably. Once again Meg was left to wonder just what the fuck was going on. Then Ryan gave a slow nod.

"I know what you are," he said, and Gavin's eyes widened.

"Um," he replied. "What?"

"I suspected as soon as Geoff told me you'd brought the Flame here. When he told me you were from the Isle of Sol. Now, the more I look at you, the more certain I become. Follow me."

He spun on his heel and marched out of the room. The others all glanced at one another before hurrying after him.

"Gavin's the chosen one!" Lindsay cried, trotting to keep up. "He's the only one who can carry the Flame! Or that's what the priests always said."

She left out the part about descending in a beam of sunlight, and honestly, Meg could see why. Ryan seemed intimidatingly intelligent - every time he spoke she got the impression that there were a thousand other details he simply couldn't tell them if only because it would take hours for them to understand the full depth of his knowledge. The more she look around the lab, the more overwhelmed she was by the sheer number of volumes, the chart of runes that took up an entire wall, the scrawled notes tacked to cabinets in which innumerable artefacts were displayed.

"When my grandfather found the air orb," Geoff explained, "It took him almost a year to get it out of the mountains. He had to figure out a way to harness the Fey runes in order to contain it and transport it. It was just sort of floating there. They couldn't touch it."

They passed through the body of the laboratory towards another locked door. Meg kept a tight grip on Lindsay's hand, tugging her along to stop her wandering towards anything they passed - including what looked like an entire cow floating in a tank of green liquid. She figured it was best not to ask.

"Since then Ryan and his team of scholars have made great breakthroughs on harnessing the Orb's power," Jack continued. "But it's incredible that it should be inside someone and not kill them."

"Incredible to us, perhaps!" Ryan said, without looking back at them. He unlocked the door and thrust it open, striding in. "But sometimes things are far simpler than we expect."

Meg's eyes widened as they walked into a study so packed with sheaths of parchment that there was barely room to move. Ryan made his way to the desk, swept a pile of books off it and slammed his hands down on the map that was spread out across the table's surface.

"Wow," Lindsay breathed, peering around. "If there's ever a fire in this room you're fucked!"

"Lucky you use redstone and not candles," Michael added, and the two of them exchanged an amused glance.

Ryan didn't seem to be listening. He was breathing heavily as he stared down at the map and Meg was rather concerned. Jack seemed to be, too - he moved closer and rested a hand on Ryan's shoulder, leaning in to murmur something in his ear that Meg couldn't quite catch. Ryan whispered something back and Jack nodded, and when he lifted his head and looked at Gavin again, she realised it wasn't panic in his eyes.

It was pure, manic _excitement._

"I've studied the Fey my entire life," he said. "I took interest as a young child and studied at Achievement City's greatest university. Did you know we are the world leaders in Fey history? Many of our forests and mountains are archaeological goldmines."

"Okay..." Meg began dubiously, unsure where this was going, and Ryan's eyes turned to her. Once again she was taken aback by the intensity in his gaze. His shyness had faded a little, even if he stumbled over his words in his excitement to get them out.

"You're a mage, not a scholar. I don't suppose you keep up much with the volumes that have been published in the last few years about our research."

"I've been on the road a lot," Meg replied, a little defensively. "There's not much time to read."

"Well then, as you're all unaware, in the last few years we've made great strides. You said before that the Fey all went to sleep. That's... true, I suppose, in a manner of speaking. We are now reasonably certain that they were wiped out by some form of disease, thousands upon thousands of years ago - and that humans are a form of the species that evolved to have their own mana rather than relying on the Elements. That somehow whatever killed the Fey left the humans alive. We have, after all, more than enough myths and legends that suggest both existed at some point at the same time in history, though it was many ages ago."

"The fuck," Michael said, and Ryan smiled ruefully.

"It's a lot to take in, but bear with me. Here is the Isle of Sol." He gestured at the map, and they all crowded around to look at it.

Meg had never been a worshipper of Sol, and so she'd never paid the Isle much attention. After all, it didn't ever really do much. It was holy ground, and the only ones who went there were those priests honoured enough to be chosen to worship there, and the most devoted of pilgrims.

She realised now that it was actually really, _really_ fucking far from the Southern mainland. Like, holy shit. She hadn't fully registered until now exactly how fucking _isolated_ Gavin's upbringing had been. Or how far he must have had to come, alone, just to get away from the Isle and meet up with Lindsay.

For a second her heart surged with a new, overwhelming affection for him. It was hard to put into words just what it was. Pride. Admiration. Perhaps something close to love.

But then Ryan's finger traced a path across the map, and landed on something else. They all leaned in, squinting.

"What is that?" Lindsay breathed. "Is that another island?"

"I thought it was a smudge of ink," Michael said. "It's tiny."

"It is tiny," Ryan agreed, "And hidden in treacherous seas. The Isle of Sol was, for a long time, considered as far south as any human has ever travelled. Edgar Taurin discovered this island in his quest for the Flame. He didn't find it there, obviously. It was on the Isle, where the priests had found it long ago. In his expeditions, he came across this small land mass, protected on most sides by an impassable mountain rage. But Taurin found a way in. He always does. And what he found there..."

He trailed off. They all leaned forward eagerly - even Geoff and Jack, who had doubtless heard this story many times before.

Ryan stared at the map a moment longer. Then looked up at Gavin, whose face was pale by now, but whose eyes burned a fierce, blazing green.

"The Fey were wiped out by a disease," Ryan said. "A disease that spread rapidly across the mainland."

"No," Meg breathed.

"But this small population had always lived isolated lives in their own tiny commune."

"In _our lifetime?"_  her heart was slamming so fast she could hardly breathe.

Sure, Michael was the one obsessed with fairytales and folklore, with myths and legends of great heroes. But Meg was the one who actively harnessed magic, who had studied these things and marvelled at the intricacies of the magic artefacts created by the civilisation that had preceded them. She'd never once imagined it possible that any of them could still be around.

"Yes." Ryan turned to her, sharing her glee. "It seems incredible. In fact, it seems like it could have been an utterly fantastical opportunity. While the Fey didn't speak the tongue of the humans, they were not hostile, though they'd been so isolated that they knew little of even their own history. Gods, when I think of the progress that could've been made..."

A sinking dread settled in Meg's chest.

"Could have?" she whispered. "What happened?"

"What always happens when Taurin's around," Geoff said, grimly, and ran a finger across his throat. "They didn't have the Flame, so he had no use for them. He didn't give two shits if they were a historical anomaly, if they were a clearly peaceful race."

"How do you know all this?" Michael demanded suddenly. "Like, this is all well and good, and I'm not saying I don't believe you, but how the hell does no one else in the entire kingdom know this shit? It's pretty fucking big news!"

Lindsay nodded agreement. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes wide, her fingers still tangled in Meg's.

Ryan's eyes flittered shyly away again.

"I know," he said quietly, "Because my father was in that party. I'm sure Geoff told you he was a spy for a long time, and sent detailed, encrypted records of all he observed back to the Ramseys. I've read those volumes a thousand times and committed them to memory. He was horrified, of course, but could not break his cover even as he watched Taurin sack the island and burn the Fey commune to the ground. But he did find one another thing. One thing Taurin missed. One thing that he risked the entire mission for."

They waited, hanging on his every word. Ryan turned to Gavin again, and Meg did, too. She could see how tense he was, the line of his spine like a steel rod.

"A baby," Ryan said, and Gavin's breath caught. "He smuggled it onto a boat. Took it to the nearby Isle of Sol. Left it with the priests with perhaps the world's most harried explanation, and rushed back to Taurin before he could notice he was missing. He managed to successfully get away - but a hell of a lot, I think, was miscommunicated due to how rushed he was. The priests never got in contact with Ramsey, although they must have heard his name. I don't think they quite understood exactly what they were dealing with. Unfortunately, my father was killed soon after, and never got the chance to speak to them again. The Ramseys didn't think much of a random infant - they didn't know the Flame was the fire orb, either, and for a long time I dismissed much of this part of my father's work as irrelevant. Nothing but a tragedy, since nothing had been heard of the child since, and the Isle of Sol is so distant..."

He trailed off, perhaps realising that they were all staring at him. His face turned red, but it wasn't him that Meg was worried about.

Beside her, Gavin was trembling hard. She felt Lindsay's hand slip from hers and the woman turned to him, wrapping her arms around him.

"Gavin," she whispered. "Gavin..."

"I..." He stared down at his hands. Looked up at Ryan, then around at the rest of them. A terribly lost, childlike expression was in his eyes. "I... what are you saying?"

"I believe you are that child," Ryan said, and Geoff stepped forward.

"It makes sense, Gavin," he urged, more gently. "The Fey can access the old magic. No wonder you can carry the Flame. It's the reason you have no mana."

"But he looks human," Lindsay protested - Meg too was standing frozen, still processing this - but she shook herself, and stared at Gavin-

And honestly, he did look human, just... not quite human enough to convince her. Thing was, if humans had evolved from the Fey, of course there'd be similarities. But she'd thought from the start, hadn't she, that there was something elfin to Gavin's features, something a little unnatural about his eyes? And the Fey skeletons that had been unearthed had been close to human. And the mana...

_Holy fucking shit._

She took a step back, involuntarily - processing things - Gavin flinched, and wrapped his arms around himself, and screwed his eyes shut. He looked like his entire world was falling apart, and she saw the three older men exchange alarmed glances. For a second, sudden anger flared through her.

_Of course he's upset. You just told him he's not fucking human. Couldn't have broken the news a bit more gently, could you?_

But it passed - she could tell in Ryan's face, this wasn't malicious. And it wasn't their fault.

"Gav?" Michael prompted, squeezing his shoulder. "You okay?"

"It's a lot to take in," he whispered - and when Michael reached out, Gavin crumpled into him, folding his body into Michael's, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Michael's arms wrapped around him protectively, and perhaps Meg should've been jealous, but she wasn't - just felt a buzzing contentment at the sight of the two of them, together - at Lindsay, coming up too to soothe Gavin and run a hand down his back. She saw Jack and Geoff exchange a glance - and, she thought, a small smile.

She herself took a deep breath. The others could comfort Gavin, for now - she'd speak to him later. One of them needed to be asking the right questions.

"So that's what's going on," she said, and they all turned to her. She didn't quail, even under the gaze of the king and his advisors. "What's the next step? Do you know how to get the Flame out of Gavin?"

"Ah," Ryan said, awkwardly, and rubbed the back of his neck. "That... would be the big problem."

"Wait, you don't know?"

"We never expected that it would be _inside_ somebody!" he protested. "Remember, all of this is unprecedented. How did the priests get it in in the first place?"

"A ritual, I think. He doesn't remember much about it."

"I'll look through my research. The Fey must have hidden the answers somewhere. I'll run some tests, too. Right now I'm anticipating it will involve a form of magic that I don't have access to. But we'll figure it out," he said, confidently, and Meg bit her lip.

A thought had come to mind. Something about the shape of the runic altar that the Orb was trapped in. It had reminded her of something.

_Blood magic._

Could that be the answer? After all, it was used for similar things. Draining humans of mana, illegally unlocking magic, casting curses so potent they even affected future generations... not to mention all sorts of darker spells like necromancy, raising golems and summoning the spirits of the dead. Surely it held potential.

But like hell she was gonna bring that up in front of Geoff. The last thing she wanted was to get the whole lot of them exiled for suggesting something so incredibly taboo. So she bit her tongue and held her words back.

"Well, let him rest for tonight," she said. "This is a lot to take in."

"We really don't have time to waste," Ryan said impatiently, and Meg's hackles rose - but Geoff quickly put a hand on his shoulder.

"You have research to do," he said, quietly, "And give the poor kid some time to process. It's not every day you find out you're not human."

Ryan nodded, sheepishly. He turned away and Jack moved to open the door, ushering them out.

"Come on," he said. His voice was much gentler than it had been previously, and his gaze lingered on Gavin. "Let's get back up to the castle. We'll take some dinner and you can have an early night. Tomorrow morning everything will seem less of a shock."

He led them out. Geoff stayed behind, moving in towards Ryan, their heads bent close as they whispered. Part of Meg wanted to stay, so at least they'd stay up to date on whatever the fuck they were planning - but one look at the others changed her mind.

_We need to be together tonight._

She felt it, somehow, deep in her bones. Today had been a turning point. They'd gotten their answers, but everything had changed, and nothing would ever be the same again. There were some truths that, once learned, changed the very course of one's destiny. 

She was shocked enough herself. _A Fey_. 

She couldn't wrap her head around it. It was impossible to imagine what this meant to Gavin - or to Lindsay, who'd known him nearly all her life. In fact, it didn't quite strike her until they were once again up in the frigid night air, and she turned to look at Gavin, and found his face cast a cold blue in the moonlight. He looked alien suddenly, his eyes glowing, one hand pressed to the chest where he carried the Flame.

For a second, it nearly scared her. He was something from so, so far away that it seemed as if his being contained all the vast blackness of the universe, as though he was as distant as the stars, as though his very presence spoke of something terrible and eldritch looming in their future.

But then he tilted his head back, and the moonlight caught his long nose and sharp jaw, and it struck her in an instant - it was still Gavin. It was the same boy who had won her over the long, long journey here. The one she had shared food with, had tussled and laughed with, who'd sat with his head resting on her shoulder as they read together. Sweet, funny, naive Gavin who'd been so brave to come so far.

All he'd ever wanted was to help people. To protect them. And he'd been swept up in so much more than he had ever expected. She loved him, suddenly, earnestly, and moved to his side with the others, reaching out to comfort him.

"You okay?" she whispered, as her hand slipped into his.

He nodded, mutely, and glanced up. All three of them were staring at him with such concern that it made him snort.

"I need time. But I'll be okay. It's... it's not even the Fey thing that's upsetting me right now, if I'm honest. I'm a bit in shock about it. I think that will come later."

"What is it?" Lindsay asked - her eyes were bright and fierce, and Meg knew suddenly that she loved Gavin all the more for this new information.

His head hung low. When he spoke his voice was thick, and it made her heart ache.

"I'm not the Chosen One," he whispered. "I... I didn't come down in a beam of sunlight. I'm an orphan. I had parents. I had _parents_ \- and Taurin killed them."

Fuck.

It hadn't even occurred to Meg, and she wrapped her arms around Gavin and rocked him close to her for a moment. She didn't know the right words to say to comfort him, had never been good with that sort of thing, but she hoped just her presence could be enough.

She felt the others join the embrace, their bodies pressing into one another, a silly, small cluster of arms and heads and shoulders. Jack, standing nearby, didn't comment or hurry them. The night was cold, but Gavin, in the centre of their huddle, radiated so much heat that Meg barely noticed. She couldn't tell which of them was shaking, or if it was all of them, maybe.

But finally Gavin took a shaky breath, and they stepped back.

"Let's go in," he whispered, and none of them commented on the tear tracks streaked down his face. Lindsay slipped her arm through his and they followed Jack, waiting patiently some distance away. Meg rubbed her hands over her own face and turned to find Michael waiting for her. His face was strained with worry, and he took her hand as she moved closer.

"Things just got a whole lot crazier," he whispered, and as they walked after the others, Meg could only agree.

 

* * *

 

So at this point Michael was just like, fuck it, he could take anything in stride. It seemed like absolutely anything could come next. When he woke up this morning, last night felt like the sort of bizarre dreams he usually had when he ate too much blue cheese. But one look at Gavin and he’d realised that it was very, very real.

Okay.

Michael had no head for magic and he knew fuck all about Fey history, so as far as he was concerned, any weird-ass things that were true about their world could be met with a decisive _sure, why not._

He was more concerned with Taurin.

Taurin, who was a real, material threat with some sort of ridiculously powerful magical weapon. Taurin, who all of them were on the wrong side of. Now that he knew just how important Gavin was, he realised with a sinking feeling that he and Meg were probably not only at the top of his hit list for getting the guy to Ramsey, but very, very high up on the ‘torture slowly and horribly’ list, too.

The south felt very far away. But the threat still lingered, and as he wandered the palace halls he couldn’t get his mind to settle.

The others had gone down to the lab. He’d opted not to - he’d woken feeling all weird and sad for some reason, and wanted to get himself back in the right headspace. It wasn’t until he found himself standing back in the great hall that he put his finger on exactly what was wrong here.

It felt too much like home.

The lavish carpets, the grand, sparkling chandeliers, the gorgeous palace grounds… he’d seen the others’ wide eyes as they took it all in, and Lindsay and Gavin’s delights at the sort of gourmet dishes they were served for dinner. To them, this was an adventure.

To Michael, it was a brutal reminder of the world he’d deliberately left behind - and now that he’d been thrust back into it, he felt torn between the urge to reject it, and the pressing need to play a part, to fit in, to show Geoff they could be useful and behave themselves. He didn’t know who he was anymore. Hero, mercenary, soldier, friend. Nobleman or barbarian. His identity was being drawn and quartered and he could feel the ligaments beginning to tear, the blood beginning to run.

Now, as he stared around at the grand paintings of Geoff’s ancestors, he saw his father in them. His grandfather. His uncles. His brothers. And the worst part was, it wasn’t with hatred or loathing that he let himself sink back into the memories of a time when _he’d_ been in one of those expensive oil paintings hanging above the mantle, when he’d run and played as a child around furniture that probably cost a fortune, when he’d not thought twice about how intricate the clothes he was wearing were.

No - it was with a bitter nostalgia and something close to sadness. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t missed his family in a long time, barely thought twice about them most days. But now there was suddenly a lump in his throat and an ache in his chest, and something he hadn’t thought in years drifted into the back of his mind.

_I miss my mother._

And he thought of his siblings, the brothers who had once seemed untouchable heroes to him - and wondered where they were. If they still served in kings’ courts or if they, too, had retired in disgrace. If they were preparing for the war against Taurin. If they had heard of the name their little brother had built for himself -  the bounty hunter who wore the skin of a bear - if they were ashamed of him. Disappointed, perhaps.

“Michael?”  
  
A voice behind him made him jump. He spun around to see Geoff and Jack standing in the hall entrance. For once they weren’t followed by a scurrying string of advisors and servants, although guards did stand at the entranceway. Michael straightened up quickly, hoping he didn’t have some foolish look on his face - but not quite fast enough, for the others hurried up to him and Geoff reached out to press his arm. Michael struggled not to flinch; it still took him aback, how easily the king touched others. He was used to the sort of propriety where so much as a lingering glance from a commoner was grounds for being charged with _assault of the royal personage_.

“You alright?” Geoff asked.

He seemed genuinely concerned, and Michael looked away, embarrassed.

“I’m fine,” he said, perhaps too gruffly, and grimaced. “I mean, yes, thank you. My lord.”  
  
Geoff rolled his eyes.

“For gods’ sake, won’t you call me _Geoff?_ You’ve seen enough to know I trust you.”  
  
_Trust_. Michael’s eyes flickered to Jack - but the other man’s reservations seemed to have faded a little since the other day. He gave a small smile and Michael hesitantly returned it. When Geoff beckoned him, he followed along, trailing beside Jack as they headed out of the hall and towards the council chambers.

“You’re not with the others,” Geoff observed.

“No. I don’t understand anything about that magic business, so Meg was better equipped to help them. I didn’t want to stress Ryan out by being down there asking all sorts of stupid questions. He seems…” he paused, not wanting to offend the king by speaking ill of his brother. And honestly, Ryan was pretty fucking indescribable. “High strung.”  
  
To his surprise, Geoff let out a hooting laugh.

“That’s one way of putting it! He’s always preferred books to people. Nevertheless, I’m glad you’re here. We’re about to have a meeting with our war council and I’d like you to sit in on it.”  
  
“What?” Michael stopped in his tracks and they both turned expectantly to look at him. “I - I’m not a military leader of any sort. I’m just a common bounty hunter.”  
  
“Still. You’re more involved in this than any of those foreign dignitaries,” Geoff said. Michael spluttered, and Jack was the one, now, to step close to him.

“Besides, I think you know more than you say,” he said. “I looked into your background, remember? I didn’t just find out about your time as a hired sword, Michael. I found the rest of it, too.”  
  
Michael fell silent, staring at them helplessly. It felt like there was a fist clenched tightly inside his chest.

“Winchester,” Jack prompted, “You weren’t lying about that, were you? Not entirely. You are indeed the youngest son of the Jones Household. Your eldest brother was a well-commended knight. Your family comes from a military lineage. You would have studied strategy in your youth.”  
  
“If you know all that,” Michael said, strained, “Then you also know that said lineage was disgraced by my father. The Jones name holds no repute in Winchester or anywhere else.”  
  
The two of them exchanged a glance, and for a second - for a second Michael missed Meg terribly. She was the one person who, when by his side, made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Like anything they faced, they faced as a team, and all it took was to exchange a single look to know what was the best move to make next.

But yet - there was nothing but kindness in Geoff’s eyes. He didn’t look shocked - or disgusted, the same way many had looked in the immediate aftermath of his family’s downfall. 

“It must be odd,” he said. “To be back here after all this time. The life of a mercenary is a far cry from that of a nobleman.”  
  
“Indeed,” Michael muttered, not sure what he was getting at.

“It’s lucky for your friends that you’re here with them,” Geoff continued. “Otherwise, I think, they’d feel much more lost than they already do.”  
  
Michael didn’t know what to say. But, suddenly, he thought of Lindsay, and what she’d said to him the night before they came to the palace. _I think it’s the work of Sol. I’m glad you’re exactly who you are_.

“My father,” he said - the words came out choked, like the fist was squeezing his throat now, “My father was a terrible man. The worst kind of man. A corrupt traitor who turned on his own king and country just to get more coin in his pocket. He didn’t just betray our family. He betrayed everyone in the fucking kingdom. There is nothing less noble than being so centered on yourself.”  
  
“But you’re not your father,” Geoff said firmly, and Michael looked down. He was shaking, and didn’t know why. Meg had told him the same words a hundred times before, but they’d never seemed to sink in. She was his friend, and he was working with her to literally track down and kill people. Of course she’d say that.

But Geoff… Geoff was different. Geoff was the same sort of man who his father had turned on so ruthlessly. Geoff knew this world inside and out in a way Meg and even Michael never could.

A warm hand landed on his shoulder again. He dared to look up and meet the king’s eyes.

“You know, my parents died when I was young. Not a child,” Geoff said quickly, “But young enough that I’d never expected I’d have to inherit leadership of the kingdom so soon. Although I’d grown up knowing I would have to prepare to one day take on my father’s duties, I still wasn’t anywhere close to ready. I hadn’t had time to learn directly from my father how to lead, and I didn’t have the benefit of his guidance. I don’t know how different things might be if he hadn’t died so young, but whether it’s because of that or not, I do know one thing. As much as I admire him, the two of us do not lead the same way.”  
  
“I don’t know much about him,” Michael admitted, and Geoff gave a wry smile.

“He always thought I was far too soft. He believed a king should stand apart from his people, that he could never be seen as their equal. I don’t believe that at all. At the end of the day, we’re all just human, aren’t we? It doesn’t matter what sort of blood runs through your veins - noble, commoner, warrior or mage, human or Fey. We’re all just men. Men who try our damndest, even when we make mistakes.”

Michael bit his lip. Jack was nodding, too, and when Geoff glanced at him and they exchanged another little, affectionate smile, he saw the truth in it. He wondered, suddenly, how they had fallen in love. What they were like behind closed doors, without the pressure of the public eye upon them.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Geoff prompted, and Michael managed a smile.

“I suppose you are,” he said, and a bright grin split across Geoff’s face.

“Good,” he said, and squeezed Michael’s shoulder. “You’ve done much to be proud of.”

Michael smiled, embarrassed, and Geoff jostled him.

“I mean it! And if things go down our way, you and Meg will be heroes - the two warriors who gave the last living Fey safe passage across the entire land, on the run from the Warlord, who brought the final piece we needed to win the war-”  
  
“Alright, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jack cut in, though he was laughing, too. “That sounds very romantic, but we haven’t won yet!”  
  
“Agreed,” Michael said, but his heart was pounding for a different reason now, and his spirits had lifted. As tangled and confused as his past was, they were somewhere else, now - moving towards a very different future. It didn’t matter where he’d been - just where he was going.

“Come on then,” Geoff said, ushering him along. “We’ve just had a report back from some of our eyes in Taurin’s kingdom. I’m eager to hear what they have to say.”  
  
“Are you concerned about Taurin having spies here, too?” Michael asked. It was something that’d been plaguing him since they saw Taurin’s men at the border.

Geoff shook his head.

“Our security is flawless. No one comes in without being thoroughly screened.”  
  
_I managed to sneak in_ , Michael thought, uncomfortably. _If Gavin hadn’t had that headache then we probably would’ve gotten away with it_.

Geoff _sounded_ very confident, but frankly Michael thought he was overestimating himself a bit. The Warlord, after all, was very cunning. And what was it that Ryan had said before? _He found a way in. He always does._

“But spies are a long term thing,” Michael said. “Aren’t you… aren’t you at all worried that it might be the same situation that Ryan’s dad was in? Someone you think you know but who actually sold you out? Taurin is clever. He’ll want to keep eyes on you, too.”  
  
“We keep a very close inner circle,” Jack assured him. “The only people who know about the existence of the Orb - and that Gavin is carrying the Flame - are the two of us, Ryan, the Chief Court Mage, and the Commander of the army.” 

“Okay,” Michael murmured, though he didn’t feel completely reassured. Still - there was little he could actually do about it, save hope desperately that Jack and Geoff were right, and there really was nothing to be concerned about.

 

* * *

 

“You okay?” Meg whispered, as they headed down the stairs into the lab.

Gavin nodded. He’d been picking at the cuffs, which a nervous looking servant had brought up to them before leading them down into the stairwell again. 

This morning he’d been in surprisingly good spirits, given what a punch in the face yesterday’s revelations had been. He’d gone to bed early, and they’d all been worried, but he actually had seemed to fall asleep very quickly and then woken up seeming remarkably cheerful. Meg was… well, vaguely concerned that maybe it was all a front. It was hard to tell with Gavin.

She fell back by Lindsay’s side as Gavin wandered up ahead, humming to himself and brandishing the redstone torch the servant had given him. He seemed to find the stuff endlessly intriguing.

“I don’t like the look of those cuffs on him,” Lindsay grumbled, before Meg could say a word. “He shouldn’t be shackled like a prisoner! He’s had enough of that already.”  
  
It wasn’t a jab at them, at least not a deliberate one, but Meg still grimaced.

“It’s a necessary evil,” she said. “At least until we can get the Flame out of him. Hey - have you guys talked much about everything we heard last night? Gavin hasn’t really said much about it, but today he seems…”

She trailed off, unsure quite how to articulate it - but Lindsay seemed to understand what she meant. She nodded.

“Yeah. We both woke up in the middle of the night and had a chat about it, actually.”  
  
“I figured if he’d confide in anyone, it’d be you,” Meg said, and Lindsay cheeks flushed. For something that was a simple statement of fact, she seemed inordinately pleased.

“He’s okay,” she said. “Honestly? It wasn’t that big of a stretch for him to accept.”  
  
“Really?” Meg asked. “I think learning you’re not even _human_ is a pretty big fucking deal.”  
  
“Maybe, but remember that Gavin spent his entire life being called the Chosen One and believing Sol sent him down from the sky in a beam of sunlight!” Lindsay cried. “He’s pretty used to strange backstories. Not to mention, the Fey were Sol’s first creations. They are his special chosen people. So actually, we were not far off from the truth at all!”

That was not remotely correct, Meg couldn’t help thinking. There was a big fucking difference between _sunshine baby_ and _ancient pre-human civilisation_ , and an even bigger difference between _Sol’s chosen people sent back to his side_ and _wiped out by a plague_. Except, she thought, perhaps not really to Gavin and Lindsay, who seemed willing to take anything in stride, and whose whole lives were like some kind of bizarre story.

So if it helped him accept it - who was she to question it? Not to mention that Lindsay had a point. Gavin believed in Sol and all the stories that surrounded him. So perhaps this all fit very neatly into his worldview after all.

“So he’s alright?” she questioned again, and Lindsay gave a soft smile and reached out to squeeze her arm.

“He’s alright,” she whispered. “He’s just excited to finally get the Flame out of him and hopefully take a step back from all this for a while.”  
  
Meg smiled. It would be good, she thought, for all of them to not be quite so tied up in this - and as long as Gavin was bound to the Flame, they were inescapably connected.

They’d reached the bottom of the stairs by this point, and when they stepped into the lab Ryan's head snapped up. He'd been hunched over one of the benches, flicking through a book, and Meg frowned a little.

She could tell he'd been tightly wound up, probably waiting for them to arrive. He looked even more dishevelled than he had yesterday, but from the way his face lit up the second he laid eyes on Gavin, Meg figured it wasn't stress that'd kept him awake.

Honestly? This had to be pretty incredible for him. To spend your entire life studying something you thought was gone forever, and then to see it in the flesh... she could hardly imagine what it must be like. And yesterday had honestly been such a whirlwind that she hadn't gotten much of an impression of Ryan, but today she was noticing much more.

He seemed to be struggling to find a way to greet them, or even to meet their eyes properly - yet at the same time, when he did manage to focus, there was something startlingly intense in his gaze. Yet again Meg found the mere presence of his magic nearly overwhelming; he seemed to radiate with it, or perhaps that was just the presence of the Orb in the next room. Still - she was pretty damn curious about the type of magic he used, and hoped they could speak about it later.

For now, he rushed towards them only to pause, hands twitching awkwardly at his sides.

"Good," he said finally, "You came."

"Good morning to you too," Meg drawled, and his face flushed red.

"I trust you had a pleasant night," he attempted next.

"Well, it was a bit of a rough one after having our minds blown about three times!” Lindsay exclaimed. "But other than that, sure."

Ryan looked even more awkward. He cleared his throat a few times, then clapped his hands together.

"Well! Let's get started, then. There's very little time to waste. I... didn't expect that all three of you would be here," he added, and sounded a little put out. Lindsay and Meg exchanged a glance, and he hurriedly added, "But, well, the more the merrier, I suppose. Please, sit down - and please do not touch anything! I've just got some questions to ask Gavin and then I'll begin trying to figure out exactly how we might draw out the Flame."

"That sounds good?" Gavin replied. He seemed rather confused, but smiled amiably as he wandered in and sat down on the stool that Ryan indicated. Meg and Lindsay followed, a little bemused and vaguely insulted that they didn't seem to be wanted here - but Meg, at least, was eager to see where this all went.

Ryan returned with a notebook and sat down. He began scribbling and Lindsay, for some gods-unknown reason, felt the sudden urge to make smalltalk.

"So you're real tight with Geoff, huh," was her eloquent start to that conversation, while Meg shot her a curious and somewhat alarmed look.

"Hm?" Ryan looked up. The very act of being asked a personal question seemed to have flustered him. "Yes, he may have mentioned that we were raised together."

"Because your dad was close to the king?"

"One of his closest friends." A dark look passed across Ryan's face. "They'd completed much of their military training together. He was one of King Ramsey's most trusted confidants - hence why he was sent on such an important mission, and why he entrusted his son to the king's care in his absence. The king was devastated when he died. It is one of the reasons why he despised Taurin so much - not that it takes much, given some of the things the man has done."

"How old were you when that happened?" Lindsay asked quietly.

"Nine years old," Ryan said, and his lips twisted for a moment. There was a slightly awkward silence, as none of them seemed to quite know how to comfort a stranger.

But finally Gavin reached out and patted his hand.

"Taurin killed my parents too, it seems," he said quietly. "Anything we can do to end his reign of tyranny, we must commit to at once."

"Of course," Ryan said, and shook himself. "So let's get started."

Meg wasn't quite sure what she'd expected from this meeting - but one thing she certainly did not anticipate was for Ryan to immediately fire off a list of questions about whether Gavin knew anything at all about Fey culture - from their diet to their customs, the difference between their anatomies and a human's, their use of magic, their beliefs, the importance of certain artefacts.

The look on Gavin's face was incredible, a mix of sheer terror and utter helplessness. He kept glancing at Meg as though he was a child in school expecting his friend to provide the answers.

Honestly, she was a bit afraid to pipe up. It'd been a long time since College, and her recollection was a little fuzzy - not to mention, she was quite certain that anything she said, Ryan was sure to already know, and in far more detail.  
  
"Look, mate," Gavin spluttered finally, after an increasingly frustrating twenty minutes of offering tentative questions about what was really nothing more than his own tastes and preferences, "I'm really sorry, but I was raised totally human. I don't think I can be all that much help to you. I ate the same thing as the priests. I believed whatever the priests told me. You probably know far more about Fey history and culture than I do. All I remember from growing up is the Isle of Sol. And gods, I wish I could help. I'd love to know everything there is to know about who I am. But I don't."  
  
Ryan's shoulders slumped a little, but he gave an understanding nod.  
  
"You're right," he murmured. "It was a long shot. Just - you don't know how incredible it is to be faced with a living, breathing Fey. A lot has been lost that, it is becoming increasingly clear, is of paramount importance to understanding the nature of magic in our world."  
  
"Well," Meg cut in, "Let's focus on the magic parts, shall we?"  
  
Ryan nodded. Gavin looked relieved.  
  
"The ritual," Ryan said. "Tell me about it. How did they get the Flame in you in the first place?"  
  
They all turned to Gavin expectedly. He had a very strained look on his face.  
  
"Oooooh." He grimaced, screwing up his face. "Uh. Well. There's a question. Yikes."  
  
"Yikes!" Ryan cried. "How come it is 'yikes!'"  
  
"Yeah," Meg agreed, "You didn't tell me, either, when I asked! Come on, Gav, start with just everything you remember, no matter how minor!"  
  
"Look," Gavin said, defensively, "It all happened well fast! I was rather stressed out at the time!"  
  
"I'll start," Lindsay piped up.  
  
"But you weren't even there!" Gavin protested. He fell silent as she pressed a finger to his lips.  
  
"Shhh. This is the sort of shit they wanna hear. You ready? On the island there is a grand cathedral in the middle of the jungle. It's very ancient and the structure was clearly built many millennia ago- but the priests are the ones who keep it maintained. The yellow walls and frescoes are recent. On one side of the cathedral is a dome with an open roof. Under the dome is - well, _was_ \- the Flame."  
  
Ryan was scribbling furiously, and Meg smiled at Lindsay encouragingly. As none of them had been to the Isle before, the context actually was pretty damn helpful.  
  
"The Flame was located at the top of a pillar," Lindsay continued, "Black. Obsidian I think."  
  
"Were there runes on it?" Ryan asked, without looking up.  
  
"Sort of. I always thought they were just patterns, but I suppose they might have been runes. But they didn't glow like the ones back there."  
  
"Okay," he murmured, nodding.  
  
"The Flame hovered above the obsidian. It wasn't burning kindling or anything. Even in the worst wind and rain, it endured. We prayed before it every night, but there was another altar in the cathedral that faced the sunrise that we prayed at for other stuff."  
  
"Excellent," Ryan said.  
  
Lindsay turned to Gavin expectantly.  
  
"So on the night they put the Flame in you," she said, "What sort of things do you remember happening?"  
  
"Literally anything you can think of, Gav," Meg urged, gentler now.  
  
Gavin looked nervous. He was gnawing his lip bloody - but, finally, he took a deep breath.  
  
"Okay," he said, "Okay. Well. I kept my clothes on."  
  
There was a confounded silence.  
  
"Alright," Meg said finally. "So you weren't naked. I mean, it narrows down a few spells. Go on."  
  
"I was lying on the other altar!"  
  
"Now we're talking!"  
  
"The room got very dark." Gavin's voice picked up confidence. His eyes were shut, brows furrowed in concentration. "The head priest was chanting but I... I couldn't understand what he said. His voice got all weird and echo-y. And it was in another language."  
  
Ryan's head snapped up. Meg had frozen, too. It all sounded terribly familiar, and she stared at the side of Ryan's face. Had he put the pieces together, too? She tried to read the look in his eyes, but couldn't.  
  
"It got so dark I couldn't see at all," Gavin continued. "So I don't really know what was happening, sorry."  
  
"But what did you _feel?"_ Ryan prompted.  
  
"Ummmm. My chest got really warm. And hotter, and hotter, until I felt like I was burning from the inside out. And behind my eyes it got super bright. Like staring at the sun. Everything turned white. I think I blacked out because the next trying I know the cathedral was on fire and the high priest always telling me to run. To get to the boat-"  
  
His voice cracked. His face was becoming flushed, and Lindsay wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his shoulder. He heaved a shaky breath.  
  
"I looked back in the doorway. I saw Taurin's men burst in - but not him. And I saw the priest get struck by arrows and fall. That's when I ran, and I never looked back.”

He fell silent, swiping a hand across his eyes. Lindsay rubbed his back, and Meg couldn’t help going to his side as well and squeezing his shoulder.

“I see,” Ryan said. He paused, tapping the end of his quill against his chin. There was a prolonged silence in which Meg opened and shut her mouth three times, unsure if she should voice her thoughts.

Finally Gavin asked, “So? Can you get it out? Because it is really becoming quite bothersome.”  
  
“I have… a few ideas,” Ryan replied. “I’ll need to expand upon them first.”  
  
“Are they dangerous?” Meg demanded.

Ryan’s eyes met hers for a fraction of a second.

“Some could be,” he said, flatly. “Which is why we need to be very, very careful.”  
  
“Here is an idea to add,” Lindsay declared, with the confidence of the fanatical. “It sounds like they were praying to Sol to get it in. So we could pray to Sol to get it out.”  
  
A myriad of hilarious emotions crossed Ryan’s face at this suggestion, and Meg had to bite back her laughter.

“I know little of prayer,” he said finally, “But you are more than welcome to try.”  
  
“I’ll get started right away!” Lindsay cried. “But I must be out in the sunlight!”

She leaned in, hugged Gavin tightly, and raced back up the stairs before anyone could say another word. Meg gave an affectionate snort, but her humour quickly faded.

_Those were certainly not prayers._

And if they were what she suspected, they were something far more sinister. The sound of Ryan slapping his book shut made her jump.

“I need to look something up,” he said, and hurried off to the study where his father’s documents were kept without so much as a goodbye. The two of them stared after him.

“Curt fellow, isn’t he?” Gavin offered, and Meg broke down in a fit of nervous laughter.

“Gods, Gavin, I don’t know what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”  
  
“If I’m honest, half of this has flown over my head,” Gavin admitted, ruefully. “There’s so much I want him to explain to me about who I am and where I”m from. But I know I have to focus on all the rest of this shit first.”  
  
“We’ll get there,” she whispered, and he reached out and caught her hand, squeezing for a moment before he let go, cheeks a little flushed.

“I hope so,” he said quietly, and then swallowed. “Hey, you and Michael…”  
  
“What?” Meg prompted, although her heart had quickened. Standing here alone with him, she couldn’t help but remember how close they’d gotten on the road. And it was impossible not to be acutely aware of the tension that was left lingering between them.

“It all worked out then?”

“Yeah,” Meg murmured, and Gavin nodded. His face was hard to read, and Meg bit her lip. A thousand things were brimming in her that she could never say out loud. Like _but we’re not finished_ and _but there’s you, too_ and _he loves you_ and _I think I love you too_.

What came out instead was: “You and Lindsay?”  
  
Gavin’s eyes widened. He shook his head a bit too quickly.

“No, we didn’t - it can’t - we decided not to. For now, at least.” He stumbled over the words, clumsily. “There’s too much going on. We decided to wait to see how things play out.”  
  
“That’s sensible,” Meg said.

“Right?”

_But love shouldn’t have to be sensible._ She saw him glance towards the stairs, saw the sadness in his eyes. Saw the way his gaze flitted to her face, and then away again. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, hard.

Suddenly the room felt far too small.

She rose, abruptly, and gestured in the direction Ryan had gone.

“I- I’m gonna go see what he’s doing,” she stammered, and Gavin gave a quick, awkward nod.

“Right. Right, of course. I’ll just sit here. Need a moment to think.”  
  
She scampered off towards the door, heart pounding, and took a deep breath as soon as she was faced away from him.

 

* * *

 

Ryan was hunched over another book, muttering under his breath and squinting intensely. When Meg entered, he looked up with a start.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked.

“Sure.” She leaned in the doorframe. “I had a few questions, actually.”  
  
Ryan looked briefly alarmed. It was almost endearing. To some, she was sure, it could come off as rude, but he reminded her so much of some of her scatterbrained college professors that she found his awkwardness quite charming.

“What are they?” he demanded, suspiciously, and she laughed.

“Don’t look so alarmed. I’m curious about your magic. I’m a sorceress too, you see.” She held out a palm, let it flare briefly with fire. Ryan immediately lunged protectively over the papers on his desk.

“Good gods, woman, we are in the most flammable room in the castle!”  
  
“I’ve got it under control!” she laughed, but quickly put it out. “I felt your mana, before. You’re very powerful.”  
  
Ryan looked embarrassed, but Meg raised a hand when he opened his mouth to protest.

“Don’t - it’s true. I’ve been to the Mages’ College. You must have a natural talent for this stuff.”  
  
“Unlocking my mana was an easy process,” Ryan admitted. “When I was twelve I was certain of what I wanted to study.”  
  
“King Ramsey didn’t mind?”  
  
“He was very accommodating. I know it’s not so in other kingdoms, but here… magic is revered as a powerful tool. The Court Mage is a significant voice in the kings’ council and there are a number of battle mages who are integral to the kingdom’s defence.”  
  
A part of Meg relaxed that she hadn’t even realised she was holding tense.

“That’s good to hear,” she said, and Ryan gave her a small, genuine smile. He seemed a little more at ease as well. 

There was so much more she wanted to ask him - about his own magic, and what types of spells he could cast, and what his study had been like. But there was something else plaguing her, something far more important.

“The ritual Gavin described,” she began, and saw Ryan’s spine stiffen. “It sounded a lot like Blood Magic.”  
  
“That is what I was thinking,” he replied, slowly, and looked up. To her surprise, it was relief in his eyes. “I didn’t know if I was mistaken.”  
  
“How much do you know about it?”  
  
“Not nearly enough. It’s forbidden here due to the dangers of its usage.”  
  
“How would the High Priest have known how to perform it?” she asked, and Ryan shook his head slowly.

“I do not know. But it will take me a long time to gather the resources I need to study how we could take the Flame out of Gavin, if that’s indeed the only way to do it. Such things are hard to come by. Ramsey’s kingdom is a safe place with little in the way of a magical black market, especially compared to some of the other kingdoms.”  
  
Meg bit her lip. This was probably a very bad idea. But Ryan didn’t seem horrified by the suggestion that they might need to employ these methods so far, and so she took a deep breath.

“What if I had a… contact who could get us what we need? Who might know far more about this than any of us and could probably specify exactly what ritual is needed?”  
  
Ryan’s head snapped up. They met each other’s gaze and Meg forced herself not to flinch.

“I think,” Ryan said, slowly, “That such a contact would be very valuable in this time of crisis.”  
  
“You could guarantee his immunity?”  
  
“He would be doing the kingdom a great service,” Ryan replied, and she fancied there was almost an amused smile tugging at one side of his mouth.

“Okay.” She let out a shaky breath. Gods, this situation kept getting stranger and stranger, but for the first time she felt a kindred spirit in Ryan - something passionate, curious, not bound too strictly to playing by the rules - and she didn’t feel quite so much as though she was walking on tenterhooks. _Magic is fine. These methods are fine. In fact, encouraged._

_We all have a part to play here._

_I guess it’s time to send a message to Jeremy._


End file.
